Ashes on the Wind
by Sweet Lu
Summary: A covert mission into Eastern Ukraine goes terribly wrong, and Deeks finds himself alone and desperate. He needs the help of locals in his search for Callen and Sam.
1. Chapter 1

**Ashes on the Wind**

_Chapter 1_

…

A delicate wildflower sprouted at the edge of the ash heap. He kept his eyes focused on it as long ago memories exploded in his head. The smell of his own fear hit him in the chest just as it had all those years ago when he had run toward his grandfather's burn pile. He felt the same prickly heat under his arms and at the base of his neck as his throat constricted, his breath suspended. He recalled the quivering beat of his heart and how the palms of his hands had tingled with shock at the sight of the huge gray rat eating the garbage he had been sent out to burn. That remembered rat had reared up to confront him and he had become frozen to the earth, his mouth going dry like it was now as he stared at the charred bones that lay in front of him. The edges of his vision flared once again with shock, multicolored auras flashing out a warning that he had gotten too close, just as he had when he'd been a young boy on an innocent errand. His errand today was not an innocent one, and the rat he thought he would confront here had already made his escape, leaving only the shattered remains of one of his victims.

"Maybe it's not..."

His own uncompleted whisper had voiced what he could only hope. They were the only words he was able to utter. His vision blurred, and he cleared his throat and raked his fingers through his tangled hair. He wanted to turn away from the ugly scene, but couldn't. He tried to concentrate on the facts, to let his childhood memory fade along with the fear that he had lost someone important to him, but both lingered. He had checked all the other bodies, and this was the only one he couldn't identify. That there was just one unrecognizable body was the only note of hope he could cling to until he knew for sure who these remains had been before the black heart of a traitor had led him to his death.

They had just made it to the eastern Ukrainian border when the attack came out of nowhere. Warnings had been shouted, but it had been too late, and the team had splintered. The small militia group they were with scattered, and Callen and Sam had disappeared, along with their NATO counterparts, in the chaos of exploding shells and automatic weapons fire that surrounded them. For the first time he was grateful Kensi had been denied any part in this black op. He remembered her anger when she was told she wasn't needed, and his own feeling of vulnerability knowing she wouldn't be along to back him up. Sam had teased him about it on the flight over, and Callen had told him his feelings were hurt by his dismissal of their skills. They eventually made him smile, and the easygoing banter had tempered some of his concerns, but now those memories were painful to recall.

He had woken up alone in a deadfall of trees where he had taken cover during the attack, with no recollection of the explosion that had knocked him unconscious. As he took stock of his injuries, the air had once again become filled with the chattering of birds instead of bullets. It was the smell of the dead that had dragged him to his feet, and the fear that the two men he had grown to think of as brothers might be among them.

They had been sent into this conflict because of a promised meeting with a Russian agent. He wanted to defect, offering intel about Russia's plans for a imminent military incursion into Ukrainian territory. Callen had known the agent through Arkady. The man insisted that Callen was the only one he would surrender to, and they'd been sent into the country to bring him out. Hetty was adamant that Callen not go in alone, which is why he and Sam were on this assignment. Then their guide, a man supposedly vetted by the CIA, someone they were told they could trust, had led them into an ambush.

"Sonofabitch."

A girl stood just beyond the field of dead holding part of her sweater over her nose and mouth. Her pale hair blew wildly in the gusty wind, and she wiped at her eyes made teary by the lingering smoke from the burned out vehicles that had brought them here. She looked scared, but determined all the same, lifting her chin defiantly as she watched him. He wondered if she had come to rob the bodies, and he shifted uneasily on his feet, hissing at the sharp pain from the shrapnel embedded in his calf. He quickly scanned the surrounding landscape for any others who might be with her. He stumbled back when she started moving toward him, and he quickly pulled his weapon. She stopped and looked uncertain, finally calling out to him in what he hoped was Ukrainian. He knew he was close to the Russian border, and if she came from the wrong side of that border then he'd be in even deeper trouble than he was already.

"You Ukrainian?" He kept his voice low as he checked the surrounding woods.

She nodded, and he released the breath he was holding.

"You speak English?"

"Little," she said. "You are American."

"What gave it away?" He offered a soft grin to ease her concern.

"We knew you were coming."

Her answer freaked him out, and he swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat. "How? Who gave you that information?"

She ignored his questions and began looking from one body to the next until finally letting out a soft cry of anguish. She collapsed to her knees and began keening, setting Deeks' teeth on edge. She knew one of the dead militiamen, and his heart went out to her. As he moved toward her, two men stepped out from behind the bombed out building that had been the team's shelter before the attack. They were holding Russian rifles, which were now pointed at him. Their clothes were worn, their boots muddy, and he thought they could be farmers, except for the weapons they held. One was an old man with a rough white beard and wispy gray hair that spouted from beneath a blue and orange knitted watch cap, his body sturdy as a fireplug. He was anxious, his eyes flicking between him and the young girl. The other man looked formidable, broad chested with muscled forearms, and eyes that were a piercing blue. He remained focused on Deeks as he held his weapon steady, speaking quietly to the old man before calling out something he didn't understand. He knew it was a warning, and he didn't doubt the man would shoot him if he made any sort of move.

"I'm American," Deeks said, and lowered his weapon. "We came in with NATO and a local militia. We were attacked by… To be honest, I actually don't know who attacked us."

He suddenly felt weak and lightheaded, but didn't want them to know that, still unsure which side they were on. The initial intel they'd received had made it clear that figuring out which militias supported which side in these border skirmishes would be murky at best. Who these locals might be aligned with was only one of the unknowns he was facing. He remained frozen in place until the old man draped his rifle across his arm and pushed the other man's weapon down, speaking gruffly to him.

"Yakiv will not shoot you," the old man said. "Too many have died today…too many young men...gone forever. Now I must comfort my granddaughter. She has lost the man she would marry."

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said automatically.

Yavik spit on the ground and grumbled out harsh words Deeks interpreted as either a rebuke or swear words. Both seemed appropriate and he nodded at the man.

"Pro-Russian separatist pigs. That's who attacked you," Yavik said. "They kiss Russia's ass and kill their own Ukrainian people for them. Now they kill Mykola. My brother. He was good, brave man."

Deeks looked away and then back down at the charred remains at his feet. His vision blurred as he once again wondered if it was Sam or Callen who lay dead at his feet.

"Your friend?" The man asked softly, suddenly appearing beside him.

"I don't know," Deeks replied.

The man said something he couldn't understand, but it sounded sympathetic.

"Have you seen any others...like me? Americans?" Deeks asked. "One would have been a black man."

"No. We come only to look for Myko," he replied. "If your friend was not killed, he would be caught. A prisoner now. For ransom, maybe. For information? Not so good. It would be better for him if he die here."

Deeks was shaken by the man's blunt assessment. "Where do they take prisoners?"

Yakiv shrugged and moved off toward the girl and her grandfather who stood over the dead man she was to have married. The man picked up his brother's body easily and stopped to look at him before walking back the way he came. His expression showed some sympathy, but his eyes held a hint of judgment, as if he blamed his presence for his brother's death. He could find no fault with him on that, but it made him recall what the girl had said earlier. These people knew they were coming, and he wouldn't be surprised if it had been this man's brother who had told them.

"You come," the old man said. "Our village is close. We will help you."

It was his only option, and he limped along behind them as they wound their way through a sparse copse of trees and out onto a fallow field. He moved doggedly along, thankful that the pace was slow. His mind drifted to the damaged satellite phone he had discovered between the two dead NATO intelligence officers who had introduced them to the militia group. NATO wasn't even supposed to be in this part of Ukraine, but then neither were they. Hopefully, the phone could be made workable again. He needed to contact Hetty and make her aware of what had happened and to get help. If Sam and Callen were alive, he knew they would continue the operation and try to make contact with the defecting Russian agent. If they had been killed, then it fell on him to make their deaths, and the deaths of all these others, mean something.

He was exhausted by the time they hit a dirt track between fields, and when the pace slowed he raised his head and saw the village, a string of low-slung buildings set in amongst a sparse woodland. A few had no roofs, some only a couple of partially collapsed walls. The village looked weather-beaten and obviously war torn. It blended into the landscape and appeared to have been bombed some time ago, the more heavily damaged houses never rebuilt. He had read up on some of the country's history on the plane ride in. From what he could tell from the looks of this village, it had probably come under attack five years earlier, when Russia made a push to retake some of the country that used to be part of the Soviet Union. A sense of sadness hung about the place, but people were moving along the narrow road that split the center. A pack of skinny dogs announced their arrival, and people stopped to stare as they walked by, calling out what he assumed were words of sympathy. That sympathy stopped when they saw him. All he got were cold, curious stares, and he felt the sting of guilt.

The old man turned down a muddy lane that led to a squat, pale pink stucco house with a bright green door. It sat behind a wire fence that held a couple of inquisitive goats tethered to stakes in the ground. A few pots with newly planted flowers sat on the broken concrete steps that led up to the front door. A large tree with broken limbs spread its surviving branches over an adjacent, ramshackle garage, its doors painted the same shocking green. Deeks shut the wire gate behind him and stopped, uncertain he would be invited in. The woman who opened the door looked younger than he expected. She wore a flowered dress under a grey wool sweater, and laced up hiking boots. Her blond hair was partially hidden beneath a flowered scarf, and there were worry lines around her pale blue eyes. She reminded him of a Ukrainian woman who had once cooked a massive lunch for him when he was a rookie cop. The only difference was, this woman wasn't smiling. She eyed him suspiciously as she held the door open to allow Yavik to carry the dead body of his brother inside. She hugged the girl and ushered her into the house, but turned to scold the old man, pointing at him as she did. Their conversation was short, ending when the old man pulled the woman to him and kissed the top of her head. He held her face in his hands and spoke softly to her and Deeks knew he was pleading his case. Finally, the woman nodded and swiftly turned and went inside.

"Come, boy," the old man said. "Ivanna is always suspicious of a lone man. I told her you lost someone too. She will see to your wounds. She was a nurse in Kiev before she married."

"I appreciate the help," Deeks said as he walked past the old man and into the darkness of the warm house.

An electric heater glowed in the opening of what used to be a fireplace. A fantasy like religious painting of the Trinity hung over the mantel, which was covered in old photos in silver frames. The room smelled of cabbage and fresh baked bread, and his stomach growled in response. Yavik and the girl had gone into another room and the older woman was banging around in the kitchen and talking to herself in her own language.

"She is upset," the old man said. "She had planned for big wedding. Now she must prepare for funeral."

"I'm sorry," Deeks said weakly, badly needing to sit down, but not wanting to be rude.

"You cannot blame yourself. Sit now. You are hurt," he replied. "Ivanna? Come help this poor boy. He is bleeding."

Her reply was in Ukrainian and sounded rushed, and not very friendly. He looked around at the overstuffed furniture, the backs draped with crisp white doilies embroidered with geometric flower patterns in red and orange. He was filthy and bleeding, with no desire to dirty what the woman had created, so he remained standing. The old man smiled as if he understood, taking his arm and leading him into the small kitchen where the woman stood staring at him. She rattled off what sounded like instructions to the old man, who looked at him sympathetically and shrugged his shoulders as if to apologize.

"She wants to know your name," he said.

"Marty Deeks," he replied, and collapsed into one of the straight-backed wooden chairs at the table.

"I am Borysko Zyma, but please...you call me Boro," the old man said. "Ivanna is my daughter."

The woman slammed a first aid kit with NATO markings down on the table and spoke to him as if he understood.

"She wants you to take off your clothes," the old man said.

"Seriously? That might prove a little embarrassing for all of us."

The woman shook her head dismissively and came around the table and began pulling on his jacket.

"You understand English, don't you?" He said, grabbing both of her arms to stop her frantic movements. "Probably speak it too."

"You are in shock," she said angrily with a light accent. "You can't see how terrible you look. If I am going to help you, then I need to see how badly you are hurt. Now take off your shirts and pants. You are bleeding on my floor."

"But you don't want me here, do you?" He said.

"No. I don't," she spit out, angry again. "You will bring trouble down on this house. And I am very tired of crying over the dead, even if that's you."

"I promise not to die," he said, offering a soft smile as he shed his jacket and began unbuttoning his shirt.

"Men. You all promise not to die, but you do," she snapped. "You are arrogant. All of you. Always fighting. Always killing. For what? For power? Politics? For another piece of this poor, tired land? When is it ever enough? When does it stop?"

"Listen, I can tell this is very personal for you, and I'm sorry about that, but we came here to try and help your country," he said, getting angry himself. "Do you think I want to be here? To be ambushed. To worry that two men I care about might be dead or captured and maybe tortured? I would rather be home with my new wife, but instead I'm here trying to stop an attack in a war I know nothing about. But it's my job, and I'm sorry your family is in the middle of it...but so is mine. As soon as it's dark, I'll leave. I need to find them one way or another."

They stared at each other for a moment, and he saw pain in her eyes along with tears. She gathered herself and her expression became stoic, her emotions now under tight control. It made him sad, and sorry he had let his own emotions get away from him. She was silent as she helped him take off his tee shirt, drawing in a quick breath as she looked him over. He was embarrassed by how badly he smelled, but she made no comment. She gave her father more orders, and the old man did as he was told, filling a small plastic tub with water and setting it down in front of him. Deeks smiled when Ivanna handed him a cloth and a bar of soap. The hot water felt good as he cleaned the dirt and streaks of blood from his face and body with the soft cloth.

"Good. Now take off your pants," she ordered, and it made him smile and let go of his anger.

"This is the part I won't tell my wife about," he said. "She always says I have a thing for nurses."

"She would be jealous?"

"Absolutely."

She blushed then and her face softened as he kicked off his shoes and struggled out of his socks. He braced himself against the table and stood up and undid his belt, letting his pants fall down around his ankles, leaving him in his jockey shorts. When he stepped out of his pants they caught on the piece of shrapnel and a sudden slice of pain seared through his leg causing him sit down hard and grip the edge of the table as a bout of nausea hit him. He rode it out as best he could, not wanting to vomit all over her floor. Her hand was warm on his bare back and she spoke urgently to her father as the world went gray for a moment. When his head cleared, the two of them helped him to his feet and walked him slowly into a small room off the kitchen. They sat him down on a narrow bed and Boro lifted his legs and he fell back, grateful to be off his feet. Ivanna pressed a towel beneath his bleeding leg and then quickly pulled a blanket over him.

"I have to cut the shrapnel out or it will become infected," she said. "But all I have for the pain is aspirin and Horilka...it's like vodka."

"Only better," Boro said. "Take both, boy. Horilka is best. Very strong."

"No. I need to leave when it gets dark," he mumbled. "I won't be able to find my way around if I'm drunk."

"You will get lost in the dark whether you are drunk or not," Ivanna said. "You can stay till morning."

"Seriously?"

"Why would I not be?"

"Yeah...no. Thank you."

After their exchange she was all business, propping his foot up on pillows so she could clean the area around the nasty wound in his calf. Boro joined him in drinking the local liquor until Ivanna scolded him. The stuff was fiery, and he coughed loudly at first, making both of them smile. When he finally thought he was feeling no pain, Boro stuck a rolled up cloth between his teeth, surprising him.

"Your screams could bring visitors," he explained. "Not good ones."

That news sobered him somewhat. This town wasn't completely safe after all, and he wondered if some of the men who attacked them might not be looking for him. He'd been seen by quite a few people out on the street. He pulled the cloth from his mouth and tried to get up.

"I should go," he murmured, slurring his words. "I'll bring trouble...like you said."

Ivanna spoke sharply to her father and the man grabbed his shoulders and pinned him down. He struggled briefly, but the old man was strong while he was most definitely drunk, and unable to resist for long.

"Okay, okay. Do what you have to do," he said and shoved the course cloth back in his mouth, and waited for the pain.

"Papa. Hold his leg still," she said, and gripped his calf with a strong hand. "You are tough guy, right? The piece of metal is in very deep. This will hurt no matter how much Horilka you drink."

He let out a muffled scream when she poured the alcohol over the wound, gripping the sides of the narrow bed with both hands. A cold sweat coated his body and he began to tremble as she probed for the fragment. He felt himself drifting as the pain intensified until he felt nothing at all as darkness closed in around him.

...

He woke when a hand was pressed down over his mouth. He started to fight until he saw it was Ivanna, who shushed him quickly. He could barely see in the darkened room, but he knew she was afraid. Harsh voices from outside the house brought him fully alert, and he gingerly swung his legs over the edge of the bed. She shoved his pants into his lap and he quickly pulled them on, along with his shoes, which someone had cleaned. The dark shirt she handed him wasn't his, but he didn't question, sliding into it as she peeked out the tiny window that looked out on the front yard.

"Pro-Russian militia outside," she whispered. "Papa is talking to them, but we must hide you. If they find you here they will kill us all."

He took his weapon from the small table where they'd placed it and stood up. His head exploded in pain and the room spun until Ivanna grabbed his arm and steadied him.

"Too much...whatever you call that stuff I drank," he said with a lopsided grin.

"And from all the blood you lost," she whispered. "Come. You must hide in the closet."

"Seriously?"

"Why do you always ask that?"

"Seems like the first place they'd look," Deeks said.

"They will not," she replied as she went to the door.

She opened it slowly, and Deeks could see that the kitchen was dark. Heavy footsteps made him raise his gun, but he understood the plan as soon as Yavik filled the doorway with his dead brother cradled in his arms. They had prepared Mykola's body for burial, and he was clad only in his underwear. Yavik moved quickly inside, laying the young man down gently on the narrow bed. Someone had cleaned his face and washed away the grime of his last moments, but the damage to his body was brutally obvious. Ivanna hurriedly unfolded a sheet and the two of them spread it over the dead young man. Yavik placed his hand on his brother's head for a moment, but then straightened to his full height and motioned to Deeks.

"The closet has hidden space," he whispered. "You must stay quiet."

Deeks entered the dark closet hung with musty smelling coats. Ivanna pulled them back and pointed at a handle in the sidewall. Deeks pulled it open, and instantly felt claustrophobic, but he swallowed hard and squeezed inside. It was cold and smelled damp with only enough space for him to stand. When the door closed, panic rose in his chest. He blew out his breath a couple of times to calm himself, focusing his thoughts on Kensi. That didn't work for long. Angry voices erupted outside before he heard several men noisily tromp in through the front door. He couldn't understand what they were shouting, but he knew they were searching for him and he froze. He raised his gun and clasped it to his chest, sliding a bullet into the chamber, and barely breathing as he waited to be discovered. He flinched when the door to the small bedroom slammed open. He heard Ivanna and then her daughter plead with them, and then there was silence. Mumbled words were spoken, but then a harsh order that sent men out into the rest of the house. No one opened the door to the closet, and he slumped against the back wall when he heard them finally leave.

"They are gone," Ivanna whispered through the door to his hiding place.

He pushed out of the enclosed space and took a deep breath before limping out into the bedroom.

"Thank you," he said gratefully as they all gathered around the bed. "That was a helluva plan. Glad it worked."

"We told them blood in kitchen was my brother's," Yavik said as he stared down at the body. "When they see him, they believe."

"They have one of your friends," Boro said.

Deeks was suddenly energized and hopeful. "Did they say where they're holding him?"

"I could not ask them that," he replied.

"No...no, of course not."

"I am so sorry to tell you, but they laugh about what they do to him," he said very softly. "They knew there were three Americans. They kill black man, took other one prisoner, and now search for you."

Deeks felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. He couldn't breathe and reached back to the wall for support. He couldn't picture Sam dead. He couldn't and wouldn't accept that.

"No."

"I don't understand," Boro said. "I do not lie."

"It might be what they told you, but it can't be true," he replied. "Sam isn't dead. He just isn't."

They all looked at him in disbelief, but in his heart he knew Sam was alive. He had to be.

"Militia leader tell me he shot him," the old man said. "Saw him fall in Oskil River."

The realization hit him that he knew nothing about these people. They had helped him, but would that last if they were threatened? If he told them why he believed Sam had survived, it might get back to the militiamen. If pro-Russian forces knew they could get their hands on a former Navy SEAL, even a dead one, this covert op would be compromised and they would all be disavowed and on their own. Captured American operatives would be valuable for propaganda purposes, and he had no doubt Callen was being tortured for intel about why they were here and for any information they could use to embarrass both countries.

"Deeks? I am sorry about your friend," Ivanna said. "What will you do now?"

"Find him."

...

...


	2. Chapter 2

**Ashes on the Wind**

_Chapter 2_

...

Poor Mykola was carried from the room, leaving him alone with the smell of death. He had only spent a few moments with the young man when he was alive, but he felt a surge of sadness for the emptiness his passing had left. Ivanna remained stoic as she pressed a dark blue parka into his hands, rapidly explained that he couldn't stay in the house tonight. They would be holding a wake for Mykola, and villagers would be coming soon to pay their respects. He agreed it would be dangerous if any more people saw that he was still here.

"I have much cooking to do." She said in a rush. "Papa will take you to a room in the garage. I will bring you out a bowl of borscht and some deruny."

"Deruny?"

"Potatoes...like American pancake," she replied.

"You've been to America?" He asked as he shrugged on the coat.

"I have an uncle in Chicago," she said. "I lived in his house when I attended Rush University...but..."

"But?"

"I could not accept my uncle's generosity any longer," she replied, looking uncomfortable as she explained. "It is a private school and the costs... It was not right...for me."

He nodded, but felt she wasn't telling him everything. Not that it was any of his business, except that he liked her and was curious.

"Do you miss it? America?"

"Sometimes. When the war comes close," she replied. "Like today."

"What do you miss?" He asked, wanting to distract her from her sorrow.

"Being young," she laughed softly. "Being hopeful about the future. Chicago is a wonderful city...but overwhelming, and I am not sorry I left. If I had not come home I would never have met my husband...my Olek...or had my beautiful Nataliya. This is home. Olek is buried here."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"This stupid war killed him," her anger reigniting into a rush of condemnation. "Russia is greedy. They invade our country. They take Crimea. Why do they need more land? They already have so much. Why do they need Ukraine? Why do they kill us?"

"Hey...hey," he reached out to her as tears clouded her eyes.

"They killed my Olek," she whispered. "He wanted to fight for Ukraine...for us to be our own country. I told him not to, but he would not listen. Men never listen. I think you like war."

He didn't know how to respond to that. Maybe she was right. Maybe some men did like war, but he was not one of them. But he had to admit that what he did...what the team did...were the battles in an ongoing war, a war against bad guys, against those who harm and terrorize others, who prey on the weak from the shadows to force their own agendas on the world. It was a dangerous job they did, but it was a necessary one.

"Your husband sounded like a very brave man," was all he could think to say. "He was a patriot."

"A dead one," she replied coldly.

"That's kind of harsh, don't you think?"

"He left me all alone to deal with this place and with our young daughter," she replied.

"I'm sure that wasn't his intention," Deeks said.

"You have a wife," she said. "What does she say when you leave her to go to a place like this...where there is fighting? Where you could die?"

"She wanted to come with me. She's my partner and my wife."

"You will not have children," she stated bluntly. "You are not meant to have family...only to fight and die."

Her words shocked him. They made him angry because they hit close to home. All his remembered conversations with Kensi about having children emerged, and he wondered if the woman had hit on the truth the two of them tried to ignore every day. War and loss had hardened this woman, and he couldn't fault her for her bitterness. It was the consequences of her survival.

"I'm sorry. I should not have said that," she said, her eyes blurring with tears. "Forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive," he replied, but could not look at her. "Kensi and I both know the odds aren't good considering what we do. But we love each other, and fight to protect one another every day we do this job. So I have hope that what you said won't be our fate."

"You have faith."

"Yeah...especially in each other," he smiled and walked past her into the kitchen.

The old man was waiting and handed him a black watch cap, motioning for him to follow. The air outside was chilled, and he pulled the watch cap down over his ears. He was grateful for the warm coat, and for their generosity, but his thoughts turned to Sam. He was a SEAL, and had been trained to survive in the worst conditions imaginable. But if he was wounded, he was in danger, and Deeks knew he had to get to him as soon as possible. How he would do that he had no idea, but he was determined to try.

The ramshackle garage lay under the moon shadows of the damaged tree above it. The interior was dark and he hesitated, turning to speak with the old man before he had to disappear inside.

"When you told me about my friend, you mentioned a river," Deeks said to the old man. "Is it far from here?"

"The Oskil. Almost nine kilometers north," Boro replied. "So, you will go for your friend."

He made it a statement, and Deeks nodded. "Yes."

"You will need a guide."

"You offering?"

"No, but I talk to my son, Petruso. I did not think you would give up on your friend," he replied. "If you have money to pay him, I think he will help you."

"But, you're not sure," Deeks said, unsettled by the man's uncertainty.

"My son...he is not easy to understand," Boro replied. "He call when he heard Mykola had been killed. They were friends since they were little boys, but..."

"What happened?"

"Petruso did not want Myko to join militia. Told him he would be killed. They argue. After Myko went into militia...they no longer friends."

"Are they on different sides in this?" Deeks asked. "Is your son pro-Russia?"

"My son does not take sides," Boro replied softly. "He is smuggler. He works only for those who pay him."

"Sounds like a dangerous guide to have," Deeks said. "Anybody else you know who can get me to that river?"

"Come inside. We talk more," Boro said, and trudged over to the garage.

The green wooden door screeched when the old man pulled it open to reveal nothing but yawning blackness. Deeks shifted uneasily on his feet, the wound in his leg stinging as he stepped across the threshold and into darkness. He waited for his eyes to adjust as the old man shuffled along the wall, obviously very familiar with the layout. The garage was much deeper than it looked from the outside. When he could see better, the shape of a large car materialized in front of him and he reached out to touch it. Running his hand along its side as he followed the old man further inside, he was stunned to discover it was a Cadillac.

"The car is gift from my son," Boro said.

Deeks got the feeling Boro's son was not just a smuggler, but was probably a car thief as well. Before he could comment he heard a rush of feet behind him and turned just as someone knocked him to the ground. He struggled to fight back against the two men who held him down, fearing for the life of the old man. Boro was pleading with them, but they just kept slapping and hitting him, their whispers harsh questions Deeks couldn't understand. As he was lifted to his feet and shoved against the side of the car, the old man fell to his knees, and his anger surged. When one man made the mistake of loosening the grip on his arm, Deeks yanked free and slammed a forearm into his throat. Before the other one could react, he swung around and bashed his head into the car window. He reached for his weapon, but it wasn't there, so he charged the men standing over Boro, driving his shoulder into the questioner's chest, and taking him to the floor. He felt the air go out of the man, but before he could get up, he was kicked in the ribs, sending him tumbling over onto his back. Ignoring the pain, he scrambled to his feet, but before he could fight back, the man grunted and collapsed in front of him. Flashlights suddenly lit the scene, and a bearded man in a leather jacket was gently lifting Boro to his feet.

"Tato," he repeated a couple of times as he wiped blood from the old man's face.

Deeks stumbled, and strong arms reached out to steady him. "You okay, Boro?"

"Tak...Yes. Thank you," he said. "This is my son, Petruso."

"You are one of the Americans," the man stated. "What is your name?"

"Deeks. Who the hell are these guys?" He asked, breathing heavily as he pointed at the five attackers sprawled across the cold cement floor.

"Criminals and cowards," he replied and spit on the unconscious man at his feet. "They come for you...for the reward that is offered."

"Sonofabitch. Didn't expect that."

"Then you are stupid," he snapped. "You were seen in town, and now my father has been beaten."

"I'm sorry for that."

Boro shushed his son as if he was a little boy, and the conversation erupted in Ukrainian. Petruso sounded as if he were berating his father, but the old man didn't back down. Their argument was heated, and Petruso looked slightly exasperated, brushing his long dark hair out of his eyes as he turned to look at him. He spoke quickly to men who materialized from the shadows, and they quickly started yanking the so-called criminals to their feet and began pushing and dragging them outside.

"You fought for my father," Petruso said. "Why?"

"He helped me out when I needed it," Deeks replied. "And I don't like bullies who beat up on old guys."

"I am not old," Boro protested, and his son laughed.

"Go bring us some food, Tato," Petruso ordered gently. "And beer."

Deeks watched the man's face as his father walked away. He saw tenderness in his eyes and he envied him. He was a rough character, but it was obvious he loved his father.

"He is a stubborn man, my tato," Petruso said, bending down to pick up an ugly looking knife. "You are wanted alive. But my father...he is expendable. They would have killed him."

"I know," Deeks said. "Good thing you got here when you did."

"Good that you did not run away," Petruso said.

"Yeah, well...I couldn't do that," Deeks replied. "Ivanna wouldn't have given me any borscht and potato pancakes if I'd let them kill her dad."

"So you do all this for food?" The man asked with a slow smile.

"Rocket attack interrupted lunch."

"And a good man's life," Petruso said.

"Mykola had a nice laugh," Deeks said, saddened by the reminder. "He liked my jokes."

"He would always laugh at his own," he replied. "I hope yours were better."

"Not so much, but he laughed," Deeks said. "But then I don't speak Ukrainian, so I really don't know what he said to the others."

"Lucky for you he did not tell any. His jokes were terrible," Petruso said.

Haunting memories hung in the darkness between them. His own made him anxious to find Sam and then Callen, and he had the feeling this man knew things that might help him do that. The obvious problem was that Deeks had no idea if he could trust him. There was no guarantee that he wouldn't just turn him in for the reward. Petruso's own father knew him for what he was, an opportunist. But then again, he really had no other option.

"Your father said you might be able to guide me to the river," Deeks ventured to say.

"You have money?" Petruso asked.

"A little."

"Give me what you have and I will pay my men to leave," he replied. "If they stay with us, they will rob you."

"Awesome," Deeks whispered, and pulled out the colorful Ukrainian money they had each been given when they landed.

"Only hryvnias? No euros? Some American dollars maybe?"

Before they left, Hetty had handed them each packets of one hundred dollar bills totaling five thousand dollars, telling them it was for emergencies. No doubt this was an emergency, but he didn't know how many more emergencies lay ahead, so he rummaged through one of the many pockets in his cargo pants and pulled out a wad of euros Callen had handed him on the plane.

"This enough?" Deeks asked.

"You have more?"

"Not much, but I think I'll keep a little in reserve...you know...for snacks and beer," he replied with a grin.

Petruso laughed and pocketed the euros before calling to someone outside and handing them most of the Ukrainian Hryvnia. Deeks was surprised when he handed him some back.

"For beer," he said and laughed.

"Petruso?" Ivanna called from the door. "What have you done? All those men outside are hurt...and so is Papa."

"Those men came for me, Ivanna. There's a reward," Deeks said quickly. "Your brother saved us both."

"You fought hard, Deeks," Petruso said. "You might have won, but I could not chance it."

"Glad you didn't."

"Are you going to help him find his friends?" Ivanna asked.

"Friends? He said he wanted to get to the river," Petruso said, turning to stare at him. "Tell me what you were expecting for this money you pay me."

"There were three of us..."

"I know this," he said abruptly. "The Russians have one, and the other was killed."

"No, he wasn't," Deeks insisted.

The man stared intently at him and then nodded. "You think he is alive and somewhere along the river."

"He may be wounded..."

"You are crazy," Petruso said. "Tell him Ivanna. Tell him about the patrols on the river. Everyone is looking for your friend's body in that river and for you. Tell him he will die if he tries this, Ivanna."

"So why did you take my money if you weren't going to lead me to the river?" Deeks said. "Gonna turn me in for the reward? Or were you going to kill me somewhere later, where your family wouldn't see you do it?"

"Watch what you say to me," Petruso warned.

Deeks instinctively reached behind his back for his gun, but it wasn't there, forgetting he had lost it in the fight.

"Marko has your gun," Petruso said easily.

"So I guess I'm your prisoner now," Deeks said, as Petruso raised a pistol and pointed it at him.

"Petruso? What are you doing?" Boro said, standing in the doorway holding two bowls of borscht.

"This man is dangerous for us, Tato," he replied. "He has brought criminals here and soon the militia will come."

"They already have," Ivanna said. "We hid him, and you know why."

"They would have killed you all," he said, never taking his eyes off Deeks.

"You hold all the cards, Petruso," Deeks said. "So what's your plan?"

"You are an idiot," He replied sullenly. "What was your plan, huh? Find a boat and follow the river up into Russia looking for a man who is probably dead? He could be at the bottom of the river or caught in the roots of a tree on the riverbank. It is a very long river with many twists and turns. You are stupid to try this."

"If Sam is alive he will be watching the river," Deeks said. "He'll see me before I see him."

"Or the militia will see you and shoot you dead," he snapped back.

"Possible...or you kill me here to protect your family and get the reward," Deeks replied coldly. "What's the difference?"

"They want you alive, remember?" He said. "They will torture you."

"And that scares me, but it scares you too. And I get that," Deeks said. "If they take me alive and torture me, you're afraid I'll tell them how your family helped me, but maybe I won't, because they're not interested in that kind of information. Maybe I connect with Sam and we disappear and you go back to smuggling and whatever else you're into. Whatever you decide, you should know...I won't go down easy."

The man looked over at his family and Deeks didn't hesitate. He rushed him, grabbing his gun and hitting him as hard as he could, knocking him to the ground. He had the weapon pointed at his face before anyone could do anything. Ivanna looked stunned, her hands over her mouth as she stared at him. Boro dropped the soup, and hurried to kneel beside his son, who was struggling to get on his feet until he saw the gun pointed at him.

"My men will hear if you shoot me," Petruso asked.

"If I was going to shoot you, you'd already be dead," Deeks said.

"Your men are gone, Petruso," Boro said innocently, making Deeks smile as the smuggler rolled his eyes and moaned out something in his own tongue.

"Stop this. Both of you," Ivanna said, finally finding her voice. "There is already one man dead in the house. Isn't that enough?"

"It is for me. I'm not going to shoot him, Ivanna," Deeks said. "Just point me in the general direction of the river and I'll be on my way."

"This man you search for...why do you think he is still alive?" Petruso asked as his father helped him to his feet.

"Because I know him, and think whoever's after him wants everyone to believe he's dead," Deeks answered. "They don't want any locals finding and killing him before they get there hands on him."

"So there is a reason they want him alive," Petruso said. "They know who he is."

"We were betrayed by a man we thought we could trust," Deeks replied. "He set us up to be ambushed, but it didn't go the way he thought it would. I don't think he was expecting that rocket attack anymore than we were."

"So...you are American agents and this man sold you to the Russians," he said.

"Yeah...that's pretty much the size of it," Deeks said, wondering if revealing that would cause him even more trouble.

"What was this man's name?"

"Kalashnik."

"Symon Kalashnik?"

"Yeah...you know 'im?"

"He is mafia. He is gangster using many names," Petruso said with a shrug. "Why would America trust this man?"

"So he has ties to the Russian mafia?" Deeks asked, silently cursing the CIA for withholding that important information.

"He knows many people. Bad people. Rich people. Russian mafia. Ukrainian mafia. Odessa mafia," Petruso said as if it were common knowledge, which it probably was.

"Organized crime at its best," Deeks said quietly. "Great."

"He promised you something or maybe a someone," Petruso said. "Yes?"

"You're smart. You know I can't tell you anything. It's classified," Deeks said. "But our mission was about protecting the sovereignty of your nation."

"And the Russians don't want you to get what you came here for," he said. "Now they have ruined your plans with plans of their own. They want to teach Ukraine not to trust America. They want Ukraine to only listen to Russia. They will torture you and make you confess to many crimes against our country, so Ukraine government will hate America. Then they will send you deep into their country to some terrible prison. They will hold you there until they get something or somebody they want in return. Or maybe they just kill you."

"Anybody ever tell you you're a real cheery guy?"

"No," he replied and smiled.

"Will you honor our deal and take me to the river?" Deeks asked.

"Only if you tell me about the man you are looking for," he replied.

"Why?"

"So I don't make mistake and shoot him," Petruso said with a grin.

"He's a big, baldheaded black man," Deeks replied. "You won't mistake him for anyone around here, if you see him at all."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean you won't see him coming, if he decides you're a threat," Deeks said.

"Now I am very scared of this dangerous man," he said, his smile full of arrogance.

"When we find him, you'll be glad he's on our side," Deeks replied, wondering if this man even had a side.

"Okay, Deeks. I will help you. I like dangerous men," Petruso said. "Now give me back my gun. Marko will give you back yours and a Russian AK-12 rifle. Brand new shipment."

"You stole from the Russians?" Boro asked.

"They have many, many rifles," he replied, as Marko walked in with one. "I took them so they would not be used against our people."

"Probably sold a few too," Deeks smiled.

"A man must eat and feed his men," Petruso said. "And Tato needed a car."

"A Cadillac?" Deeks said, smirking at the man. "Can't fault your taste, man. It's a nice ride."

"Yes. And I was good. I only take one," he replied.

"How many were there?"

"A whole train car full."

"If we were in LA, I'd have to arrest you," Deeks said.

"Lucky for me we are in Ukraine," Petruso said as he slung the assault rifle across his chest. "And now we go to the river."

"What about dinner?" Ivanna asked. "He has not eaten all day, Petruso."

"Wrap up some kovbasa and deruny," he replied. "We will eat on the way. We must get to the river before the sun rises."

...

...


	3. Chapter 3

**Ashes on the Wind**

_Chapter 3_

...

Deeks had expected to be alone with Petruso on the trek to the river, but Marko trailed behind them as they made their way through another cornfield. He didn't like feeling boxed in, and kept the assault rifle they had given him close to his chest, his finger poised by the trigger. Petruso moved fast, and the pace was beginning to take its toll. He was exhausted and the wound in his calf pulsed with pain on every step. The cornfield seemed endless, and his mind drifted until he was slapped in the face by yet another cornstalk.

"Field of Dreams," he said, huffing out a soft laugh. "Awesome. In a cornfield...definitely not dreaming, and not a baseball player in sight."

Marko was suddenly right up behind his shoulder, and he realized he had stopped.

"It was good movie," the scroungy big man grunted. "Little girl was my favorite."

"Seriously?"

"You not like little girl?" Marko asked, making it sound like a threat.

"Yeah, no...she was cute," he quickly replied. "I'm more a fan of the Moonlight Graham character."

"Yes. I like him too. He bought hats for wife. He was good man," he replied and slapped him lightly on the back. "Go now. We eat on other side."

The man stepped past him and Deeks let out a long held breath, and limped after him. Thinking of Marko eating popcorn and watching a baseball movie made him smile as he moved along the long row of corn. He was grateful for the diversion and the small amount of moonlight they had. It allowed him to see the low, tree covered rise ahead of him and an end to this incredibly vast cornfield. When he shoved past the last cornstalk, he stopped to catch his breath. The dirt track bordering the field was deeply rutted, and as he moved to follow the two men he stumbled, and almost went down, crying out as a wave of pain wrapped his leg. Bending over, he spit out the harsh taste of bile that rose from his empty stomach. When he stood up straight, Petruso was staring at him. He couldn't make out his expression in the dim light, but he said something in Ukrainian to Marko, who came back to hand him a flask.

"Vodka," he said.

"Not horilka?"

"The Russians ship many things on the railroad," Petruso said. "We take only the best."

Deeks nodded and asked no other questions, just took a quick shot of the offering hoping it would ease his pain. He coughed as the harsh alcohol burned his throat and lit a fire in his empty stomach. His eyes watered, and he huffed out an embarrassed smile as Marko laughed at him. Petruso seemed to find it a flaw in his character and spit on the ground in disgust.

"You want to keep going or go back?" Petruso asked. "It is six kilometers to river."

"I'm fine. Thanks for asking," Deeks said with irritation, shoving the flask into Marko's chest.

"We will not carry you," he replied evenly.

"I'm not asking you to," Deeks snapped.

Marko rattled off something in Ukrainian that seemed to anger Petruso, their argument too loud for Deeks' liking. He walked past them and waded into the tall grass at the base of the hill, and slowly began to trudge up the slight incline. Halfway up he stopped. Something felt off and he quickly scanned the trees along the crest. Soft shadows stretched down the grassy hillside in the moonlight, and as he crouched low, he made out a distinctly human shape huddled at the base of a large beech. A long rifle pointed down the hill toward Petruso and Marko, and he quickly pulled his pistol. He hesitated to fire, afraid it might alert others that might be with him. But he knew if he wanted to get to the river, he needed the two men still arguing below. A surge of adrenaline made him swallow hard as he raised his weapon and stood to his full height.

"Gun!" He shouted and fired a single shot just as the figure swung the rifle toward him.

He saw the man fall and moved doggedly up toward his position, reaching it just before Petruso and Marko. The man was still alive and Petruso cursed him in English and then in Ukrainian. At least he assumed they were curses. Marko kicked the man over onto his back, and shined a flashlight in his face.

"Liski," Petruso spit on the man.

"You know this guy?" Deeks asked.

"He is mafia hitman from Kiev," he replied. "Marko go."

The man didn't hesitate, moving up the hill with his AR-12 sweeping back and forth as he disappeared into the trees.

"You were his target. Not me. Why?" Deeks asked.

"Reward for you is big one," he said with a shrug. "Maybe he wants me out of picture."

Deeks wasn't sure he believed him, but let it go for the moment. "So how did he know where we'd be?"

"I call a friend with car to meet us," Petruso said. "It is long walk to river, but there is back road from here."

"Some friend. He sold you out," Deeks said.

"Mafia has way where you have no choice."

"Copy that," he replied. "You think there are others with him?"

"Maybe, maybe not," he replied. "Marko will find out."

"What if there's a whole militia up there?" Deeks asked. "Marko has no backup."

"You like him," Petruso said, shaking his head as he smiled. "He likes you too. Now you save his life. He will follow you like puppy dog."

"I saved your life too," Deeks said with a slow grin.

"I am more wolf than puppy dog. I follow no one," he said. "I save you in garage. So we are even, as you Americans say."

"Sounds fair," Deeks said, and headed up the slope after Marko.

"He does not need your help," he called out after him.

Deeks didn't reply. He wasn't sure why, but he did like Marko, and didn't want him to be killed. As he moved deeper into the trees, he could hear Petruso questioning the wounded shooter, stopping briefly when he heard a sharp cry. He had no doubt Petruso had executed the man, but as distasteful as that was, he had no idea what the alternative would have been. He'd known going in that this was a black op, but this was daily life for Petruso and for Marko. It was a war with multiple sides and various elements with different agendas, but his only agenda had to be finding Sam and rescuing Callen. He had no time for mercy or regret.

He heard the struggle before he saw it. When he stepped out on a rough two-track dirt road he saw Marko in the headlights of a small pickup fighting three men, and barely holding his own. Deeks didn't have the energy to wade into a hand-to-hand fight, so he moved quickly forward for a better shot.

"Marko! Get down," he shouted, and fired, hitting the man closest to him.

Before he could fire again, the other two broke and ran. One turned to fire back, but was shot down by Petruso, who arrived as Marko scrambled to chased down the last man. He broke his neck in one violent motion.

"Did you see Fedir?" Petruso shouted.

"His body is in back of truck," Marko replied. "Bastards cut his throat."

"I'm sorry, man," Deeks said.

"Shut up!" Petruso yelled and charged him, grabbing his coat and shoving him back into the trunk of a tree. "He is dead because of you. You think you are worth his life because you are American? I care nothing for you or your friends. Go find them alone. I am done with you."

"This is not his fault, Truso," Marko said as he pulled him off. "It is your fault. You too lazy to walk, so you call Fedir. He likes money you offer. Wants more. He betrays you. Now he is dead. Now we go to river."

Deeks expected Petruso to explode with anger, to argue, but he didn't, making him wonder just what the relationship was between these two men. Petruso wouldn't look at him, but he was still angry, kicking one of the dead men as he walked to the back of the pickup. The two of them pulled Fedir's body out and laid him on the ground. They spoke quietly in Ukrainian, and eventually Petruso nodded and squeezed the back of Marko's neck. In spite of his betrayal, they took the time to bury their friend under an oak tree, but left the others where they lay.

"Get in the truck," Petruso snapped at Deeks as he climbed behind the wheel.

Marko surprised him by holding the door open for him. "You save my life. Two times. I save you only one time...from Truso. He is madman when friends die. Now I owe you."

Deeks got in, biting his lip to keep from groaning out loud as he pulled his wounded leg inside. The interior of the cab was relatively neat, but smelled of cigarettes and gun oil. It wasn't hard to figure out that Petruso's dead friend had been part of his operation. They were all criminals, although Petruso probably didn't think of himself as one. He was a survivor, who knew how to work all the angles. He stole with both hands, especially from the Russians. Deeks also thought he was probably a patriot, but unwilling to admit it. He was a realist with a personal code of ethics. He protected his own, which was one of the reasons Deeks respected him. He wasn't crazy enough to trust him completely, but he knew the ins and outs of the game the various factions in this part of Ukraine were playing, and Deeks needed his expertise to survive, and to find Sam and Callen.

They bounced over the two-lane dirt track that wound its way through a woodland of beech and oak, and the occasional stand of scraggly pines. Ferns softened the underbelly of the forest and choked the narrowing road. They were slowly descending toward the river when Petruso abruptly pulled off into a grove of beech trees. Deeks was surprised to see a couple of picnic tables, reminding him that this area hadn't always been a war zone.

"We eat now," Petruso said, and smiled.

When he climbed down out of the cab the soft sound of the river running in the distance drifted up from below. The horizon had lightened to a peach colored glow that blended into a dark gray sky, and Deeks suddenly felt encouraged after the long night. Marko pulled several plastic containers from a knapsack he'd set down on the picnic table, opening them one by one to reveal sausages and thin, crispy potato pancakes. Even cold the food smelled good and his stomach growled. Except for a bottle of water and a shot of vodka, he'd had nothing to eat in over twenty-four hours, and his mouth watered in anticipation.

"Pryaniki," Marko practically shouted, showing him the contents of a colorful Christmas tin full of glazed cookies that smelled of mint.

"Ivanna made the cookies for Nataliya's wedding," Petruso said. "It make her sad to see them in her kitchen."

"Pryaniki always make me happy," Marko said as he crammed one in his mouth.

Deeks eased himself down at the table and picked up one of the sausages. The skin popped between his teeth, and the sweet taste of pork filled his mouth. He finished the first one quickly, sucking the grease from his fingers before reaching for another.

"Take deruny," Marko said, holding the container out to him. "Ivanna makes the best. Potatoes will soak up grease in stomach."

Deeks didn't argue, appreciating the savory flavor of the potatoes and the sweet taste of garlic, while wondering if Marko was secretly a foodie. He noticed that Petruso barely ate anything, instead standing alone, smoking as he looked down at the river below. After taking a couple of the cookies, he got up and went to stand next to him.

"Is there a place to hire a boat near here?" He asked.

Petruso laughed and took one of the cookies from his hand, eating it in two bites. "You are funny man, Deeks. You think this is Disneyland? No, Deeks. We do not hire boat, and silly music does not play when we float down river. No. We steal boat."

"All right. Does that mean you don't believe it's a small world after all?" Deeks asked with a wiseass grin that faded when he got no smile in return. "And if the owner calls the police?"

"He will not do that. Not the man I steal from," he replied. "If he sees us steal his boat he would come for us himself. So...we don't let him see us."

"I think my boss would like you," Deeks said, smiling at the thought.

"He must be smart guy. Knows how to get things done...like me," Petruso replied smugly.

"She...is very intelligent and very sneaky," Deeks said. "And very small. She's like four foot high, and can scare the crap out of four star generals and heads of state, not to mention lowly employees like me...and criminals...like you."

"There are many kinds of criminals in this world," he said slowly. "Some very bad. Some with much power, who decide things for everybody. Those criminals hurt people. Sometimes man needs to act like criminal to survive...to help family and village survive...like me."

"So you're the Ukrainian Robin Hood," Deeks said, and Petruso shrugged.

"This little lady you speak of...she would understand this?"

"She would say that sometimes things need to be done for the greater good."

"She is wise woman," he said. "Does she know you are in trouble?"

The comment shook Deeks, and he stared at the man awhile before he spoke. "Probably some of it...just not the details."

"Does she care?" He asked. "She would help if she knows you are in danger?"

"Without a doubt and without hesitation," Deeks said.

"Why do you not call her? Ask her to help?" Petruso asked, his eyes narrow and sharp. "I thought all Americans have iPhone."

"No phones this trip," he said. "To easy to hack and track. No one was supposed to know we were here. Sam, the man I'm looking for, has our sat phone...however..."

Deeks reached into a pouch pocket in his pants and pulled out the NATO satellite phone he had picked up after the ambush.

"Got this off one of the dead NATO guys," He said wearily. "It was damaged during the attack."

"Marko," Petruso called out. "Deeks has broken sat phone. Come fix it."

"He knows electronics?"

"Marko knows many things," Petruso whispered. "He was in military, but don't ask him questions about it. It will make him angry."

"How'd you meet?" Deeks asked.

"I blew up his convoy," Petruso said with a laugh, and walked back to the picnic table, leaving Deeks wondering what the rest of the story was.

Marko said nothing. He just took the phone from Deeks and began examining it, while Deeks silently prayed to every deity he could think of that he could get the thing to work. Being able to connect with Hetty would change everything. That she might have intel on where they could be holding Callen gave him hope that they might survive this. While Marko fiddled with the sat phone, Deeks noticed Petruso had binoculars out and was scanning the river below. Following the man's lead, he looked up river and heard the faint sound of a motor. It wasn't long before the dull gray bow of a small, military patrol boat came into view. The crew members were armed with long rifles, and even without binoculars, he could see they were searching the riverbank.

"Your bald headed black friend has not been found," Petruso said. "Does not mean he is alive."

"Doesn't mean he's dead either." Deeks said. "No body in two days means there's hope, brother."

"You are good friend to this man," Petruso said. "Would he do the same for you?"

"No question. We're a team. No man left behind," Deeks said. "Sam is my brother in arms. He might even be looking for me right now."

"Or he looks for other man," he replied. "Maybe he thinks you are dead."

"Yeah...maybe he does," Deeks replied, the thought leaving him feeling melancholy and unsettled.

Petruso didn't say any more, and Deeks was left to wonder if Sam and Callen had gone back to look for him, causing them to be captured. Thinking about it wasn't helping his mood, so he returned to the picnic table. Marko had a small tool kit out and pieces of the sat phone were neatly placed side by side on the table. The man smelled of pork sausage and garlic, and he didn't look up when Deeks sat down across from him. As he watched, Marko would mumble something in Ukrainian, and then pick up one of the pieces, repeating the process until he was finished and the phone had been reassembled.

"It work now...I think," the man said, and held it out to him.

"Fingers crossed, brother," Deeks said, accepting the phone carefully with both hands as if it might fall apart if he held it too tightly.

His mind raced as he dialed in the international number that would connect him to home. He remained nervous until he heard Hetty's reserved voice on the other end.

"Who are you?" She asked. "And how did you get this number?"

"It's Deeks," he said with relief, choking on his own name.

"This connection is extremely poor, so I'm afraid you will have to prove to me that you are who you say you are, or I will disconnect immediately."

"No, no...don't hang up, Hetty. It's me...the newlywed...your favorite cheeky bastard and charismatic cheetah...lover of obscure, smelly fruit, and your one and only wiseass liaison from the LAPD," Deeks replied, watching as Petruso's eyebrows lifted in astonishment and Marko giggled behind his hand.

"Thank God. It is so good to hear your voice, Mr. Deeks. We were told you were all dead."

"Who told you that?" Deeks asked, trying desperately to control his sudden anger.

"Our cousins at the agency," Hetty replied. "Their man on the ground passed the intel along yesterday."

"Would that man be Symon Kalashnik?"

"Yes, and I am curious to know how he got it so wrong."

"He betrayed us, Hetty. He led us into a trap. We were attacked and shelled by a pro-Russian militia group. I got knocked out during the attack. When I woke up, I couldn't find Callen or Sam, the two NATO operatives were dead, and so were the militiamen escorting us."

"Breathe, Mr. Deeks. Take a moment and breathe," she said gently. "Do you know the current status of Mr. Callen and Mr. Hanna?"

"The word locally is that Callen was captured and in Russian hands," he said. "It's being reported that Sam was shot and killed...but I don't think that's true."

"Why?"

"Because there's a bounty on my head and his. A big one, and a lot of the locals are after that reward," he replied. "I think whoever has Callen wants everyone to believe Sam is dead, so they'll stop looking for him. The reports say he was shot and fell into the Oskil River. That's where I am now, Hetty. He had the sat phone. So, he hasn't called in?"

"No, Mr. Deeks, I'm afraid not. But, as you know, that sat phone was pre-programmed to call my number. Yesterday afternoon, your time, a call came through on that phone. The person on the other end was speaking Ukrainian. From what was said, I believe they have or did have Sam at some point. I'm not sure they still do, or if he is alive. They hung up before I could question them, and Nell said the phone had gone dead when she tried to reconnect."

"Sonofabitch."

"Are you okay, Mr. Deeks?"

"He can't be dead, Hetty," Deeks said, wanting it so badly to be true. "I need to find him."

"What is your status, Mr. Deeks?"

"I'm a little banged up, but I'm good to go," he replied.

"I will let Kensi know," Hetty replied. "She's been a little hard to control since being told you were dead. I had to put a guard on her to keep her from catching the next flight out to Kiev. You can imagine how well that went over."

"Things are pretty volatile here, Hetty. Please keep her there."

"I will. Now tell me how I can help, other than throttling everyone at the agency about the traitor they allowed in your midst?"

"Try and figure out where the Russians might be holding Callen," he replied. "When I find Sam, we'll go for him."

"Mr. Deeks...I think it best I pull you out and send in another team to find Sam and Callen."

"No, Hetty. Please. That will take too long," Deeks pleaded. "Sam may be wounded, and I'm close right now."

"You are all alone without backup, Mr. Deeks."

"Not exactly."

"What do you mean?"

Petruso suddenly yanked the phone from his hand, holding him in place when he resisted. He could hear Hetty clearly, calling his name when he didn't answer.

"Hello. I am Petruso Zyma. Deeks hire me and Marko as guides," Petruso said. "He has told me you are smart lady, so you will understand when I tell you this is very dangerous situation, and he will probably die."

"Is that a threat, Mr. Zyma?" Hetty asked. "Because I don't do well when people I care about are threatened."

"This is same with me," Petruso said. "But I am not the one who is threat. It is Kalashnik. He is the threat. He is connected to Russian mafia in Ukraine. That is who wants your people. They will sell to the highest bidder. Russia. Do you understand?"

"Oh, I do understand, Mr. Zyma. You want more money. In America, we called this a shakedown," Hetty replied and then said something in Ukrainian, making Petruso's eyes darken with anger.

He stared at Deeks and covered the mouthpiece of the phone. "You did not tell me she speaks Ukrainian."

"She speaks so many languages it's hard to keep track," Deeks replied. "What did she call you? Something nasty I hope."

"I cannot translate what she call me, but it was very insulting," he shot back. "She thinks I am holding you for ransom."

"I told you not to mess with her," Deeks said and took the phone back. "Hetty? I trust him. He's had more than enough chances to shoot me and turn me in for the reward. He hasn't done that."

"Very well, Mr. Deeks," she said. "I trust your instincts. Now, put him back on the phone, and be sure you are listening in."

"Copy that," he replied, setting the sat phone down on the table between them.

"Mr. Zyma...whatever reward is being offered for Mr. Deeks, I will double it if he gets out of this alive," she said. "If you help my team, I will help you, and your family. But if you try and play both sides I will hunt you down and destroy you. Do you understand?"

"You are in America," he laughed. "I am in war zone in Ukraine. I could die today, or any day here. Why should your threat scare me?"

"Because I have friends there," she replied, and once again spoke to him in Ukrainian.

"I do not like being threatened, little woman," Petruso said when she was finished.

"Call me Hetty," she replied. "Do we have a deal?"

"Yes, but you should know, Deeks is already wounded when he hire me," he said. "So do not blame me for that."

"Mr. Deeks?"

"I took a little shrapnel in the leg, Hetty. I'm fine," Deeks said, glaring at the man. "Petruso's sister patched me up. No need to worry."

"Oh, but I do...about all of you."

"Something is happening on river," Marko said sharply.

"Gotta go, Hetty," Deeks said. "But do me a favor? Find Symon Kalashnik. I have a feeling he knows exactly where Callen is, and maybe Sam too."

"As soon as I'm off the phone I intend to go a little scorched earth on our cousins at the agency," she said. "I don't like being lied to. They knew exactly who and what this man was, and I'm going to make them very sorry about sharing doctored intel."

When the call ended, Deeks felt exhausted, but hopeful. Petruso looked exhausted as well, finally looking over at him with a slight smile.

"She is very scary woman," he said as he got up. "Good that she is on our side."

"Copy that, brother."

...

...


	4. Chapter 4

**Ashes on the Wind**

_Chapter 4_

...

Petruso eased the blue truck slowly down the last switchback, trying to minimize the sound of their approach by cutting the engine. When they reached flat ground he coasted in amongst the willow bushes and small trees that lined the river. Deeks could hear men yelling from the riverbank and the rumble of boat motors idling around the old wooden pier they had scouted from above. There was some kind of rendezvous taking place, but an angry one if the agitated voices were any indication. One engine suddenly roared to full power and he heard a boat head up river, but without a sightline there was no way to know how many men were on it.

Petruso put a finger to his lips, warning him to be quiet as he silently opened the door and slipped out. Deeks followed and saw Marko already moving through the willows toward the water. He hesitated to follow when he noticed the roof of a building peeking above low growing trees to his left. Part of the roof had been destroyed and was covered by a blue tarp. The house looked weather-beaten and abandoned. It also looked like a good place to hold prisoners, and he moved closer to get a better look. A few well-armed men loitered by a willow fence just below the front of the house, and he saw two others go inside. It could be the pro-Russian militia's headquarters, and he needed to get back to Petruso and Marco to let them know what he'd found. He quickly retraced his steps, hoping to catch up with the two men, but was forced to hide behind a large oak when he heard the crunch of footsteps coming up a path from the river. As he backed away from the path, the willows rustled behind him. He turned, thinking it was Petruso and Marco, but he was wrong. Two heavily bearded men in the peaked caps of the pro-Russian militia emerged with assault weapons pointed at him. They shouted out to the others, and he was suddenly surrounded and stripped of his weapons. The men shoved him out onto the path as they yelled questions at him he couldn't understand. He felt angry and embarrassed to be caught so easily, but at least Petruso and Marco hadn't been with him. They could go back to their families and be safe.

A group of men were clustered at the base of the pier where the remaining patrol boat idled. One of the men who kept pushing him in the back, yelled out to them in Ukrainian. A man emerged from the knot of rough looking men, and Deeks recognized him immediately. Symon Kalashnik. He had a remarkably plain face, one you wouldn't pick out in a crowd unless you focused on the severe set of his mouth. Deeks had never seen him smile until now. He spoke briefly to a brutish looking younger man in a long khaki coat, who looked up from a map to stare over at him. The sides of his head were shaved close, the top crowned by a mop of thick black hair. The men surrounding Deeks seemed jovial, enjoying the thrill of his capture until the man looked at them with dead eyes. Their self-congratulatory laughter devolved into murmurs and uneasiness, and Deeks braced himself for what was to come as he was hustled forward to face the two men.

"Hello again, Mr. Deeks," Kalashnik said. "May I introduce Yuri Burachek. He has a few questions."

"Let me guess...he's Russian, probably FSB, likes expensive vodka, and recently had his hair done," Deeks said with a grin.

"As you can see, Yuri, Mr. Deeks thinks he is funny man," Kalashnik said.

"Shut up, Symon. I don't need your assessment or any further help from you," the man replied curtly in excellent English and only a slight accent. "I would not even be here if you had done what we paid you to do."

Kalashnik grew pale as the man spoke. "It wasn't my idea to use rockets."

"Seriously, you sonofabitch?" Deeks said, his anger rising with images of the dead. "I'm betting you knew we were going to be shelled, cause, dude...you tucked tail and ran before it happened."

Kalashnik backhanded him so hard his eyes watered, and Deeks charged him, managing to land a couple of punches before he was grabbed and pulled back by the militiamen. Burachek put a hand on Kalashnik's chest as the man attempted to retaliate, the warning in his eyes tough to miss.

"Maybe it is you who run," Kalashnik challenged. "You survived, but not your agent friends."

The shock of his words hit him in the chest, and he couldn't breathe. Was he lying? Was it just an attempt to shake him up and make him feel isolated? He saw a brief flicker of a smile from the Russian, or thought he did, but wasn't sure what it meant.

"Symon tells me you are not a trained agent," Burachek said. "Simply a policeman. Is this true?"

"Symon is a douche," Deeks replied.

"I do not know what that means, but it is probably a description he earned," Burachek replied. "Were you a policeman?"

"I kinda think I'm not supposed to answer your questions," Deeks said. "Besides...what difference does it make if I was a cop or not?"

"You have no options here, Mr. Deeks," he replied. "Your life and wellbeing are both in my hands. How you choose to respond to me and to my questions will determine your treatment. If you cooperate, you will be treated fairly, but if not, your treatment will be quite harsh. Any questions?"

"Is what he said true? Are my friends dead?"

"You must believe they are alive or you wouldn't be searching for them," he replied. "Would it make a difference in how you answer my questions if I told you?"

"First I'd have to figure out if you were lying...which you probably would be, since you're a Russian agent operating on foreign soil...who I'm pretty sure was sent here for the sole purpose of capturing me and my friends so you could interrogate us for intel that would benefit your country...and possibly to hold a glitzy new conference to bad mouth America in front of the world."

"Well said, Mr. Deeks, but rather long winded," he laughed. "You are clever, and probably smarter than you are given credit for, but don't make the mistake of thinking you can outwit me, or outtalk me. Words aren't the only weapons in my arsenal."

"That's not surprising, considering you're a badass Russian agent," Deeks said.

"I was born in Ukraine, and studied in America, Mr. Deeks..."

"Call me Deeks. Someone I actually like calls me Mr. Deeks, and hearing it come out of your mouth is just all kinds of wrong."

"And who might that person be?"

"Sorry. Can't tell you that...but I do hope you meet her someday."

"Ah...a woman," he said. "Eventually you will tell me about her, but first, please tell me who sheltered you and helped you find this place?"

"No one I know."

"Cleverly put, but I would advise you not to be stubborn, Deeks," he said sharply. "While I am enjoying our genial conversation, I really do need to get down to business."

"Don't you just hate deadlines?" Deeks grinned. "I know I do."

One of Deeks' captors said something in Ukrainian and Burachek nodded.

"Where did you get the blue truck?" He asked as he took a step closer.

"I stole it," he replied and grinned at the man. "I grew up in a bad neighborhood. Learned some bad habits."

"I believe someone gave you aid and loaned you their truck," he said, standing so close Deeks could smell his oily skin. "These people must be made an example of. The people here need to understand what will happen to anyone helping the enemy."

"I thought you and your Russian buddies were the enemy. This is Ukraine, right?"

The punch was very low and powerful, and he sank to his knees, fighting to hold down the sausages he'd had for breakfast. The backhand snapped his head back and bloodied his lip, leaving him groggy. Burachek wasn't smiling when he lifted him to his feet. His expression was blank and matched the dullness in his eyes. It was if he had no soul.

"No more games. Give me names or suffer," his voice flat and dispassionate.

"What? Just two choices?" Deeks choked out.

"Names."

"I'm partial to Fred, and maybe Matilda for a girl..."

Burachek didn't give him a chance to finish, bringing the base of his fist down on his eye, and then back, cracking across his cheek with explosive pain. Two militiamen held him up as Burachek gripped his chin, his face inches from his.

"The temperature is supposed to drop today. Which means the water should be especially cold," the man said, sounding like a weatherman on meth. "Symon tells me you are from Los Angeles, yes? So you must enjoy a day at the ocean when time permits. Do you like being in the water, Deeks? I hear it can be quite invigorating, and quite cold."

Orders in Ukrainian were quickly given and he found himself facedown in the dirt. He was stripped down to his t-shirt and underwear, and his hands were tied roughly behind his back, his ankles tie together as well. Burachek walked around him until he came to stand by his feet.

"You were wounded," he said, sounding as if it were a gift, and Deeks felt his heart flutter with anticipation. "It appears well taken care of."

He could feel the man's boot come to rest on his calf. "Who has this capability? Who took pity on you, Deeks? Tell me who helped you?"

Deeks remained silent, waiting for the pain, waiting to scream even though he didn't want to give the man the satisfaction. The fire began slowly as Burachek pressed down on his injured calf, repeating his question over and over like a mantra as he applied more pressure on the wound. Ivanna's face filled his mind as he fought through the searing pain, her bitterness a reminder of her survival. He was determined not to give her up. His breath exploded in the dirt when he felt Burachek lift his foot, his own scream surprising him when the man stomped down so hard on the shrapnel wound that he blacked out. When he woke up he was face down on the pier, and Burachek was standing over him.

"This is a simple question for you, but it needs to be answered before we can move on to more important topics," he said, sounding almost reasonable. "Who are these locals you are working with? Are they part of a pro-nationalist militia? And where is their village?"

"Tell me about my friends, and maybe I'll tell you," Deeks replied.

"I believe that is a lie, Mr. Deeks," he said, his laugh oddly charming. "You have a streak of loyalty in you that will not serve you well."

"I asked a simple question about my friends."

"But there is no simple answer," he replied. "I also believe you are testing my limits just as I am testing yours. So...perhaps we need a real test to settle the question of who will reach their limit first."

"I don't do well on tests."

"And you won't do well on this one either."

He closed his eyes to prepare himself as men in heavy boots surrounded him. He took in deep breaths of air in anticipation of what was coming. Two men lifted him up by his arms and slid his upper body out over the edge of the pier while others pinned his legs down. Dark water moved not more than a foot beneath him, making him anxious and pissed off.

"Loyalty can be a curse," Burachek said.

The men holding him up, suddenly dropped him, and he struggled, straining every muscle to keep his upper body above the water rushing beneath him. Burachek laughed and placed a foot on his upper back and shoved his head and shoulders under. Every time he managed to get his head up and out of the river, he was pushed back under. The question was asked each time his head broke the surface. Each time he refused to answer. He felt his strength waning, and when his head went under again he was kicked solidly in the kidneys. He screamed and water rushed into his mouth, choking him. As his lungs burned with pain, he panicked and fought. Someone grabbed the rope that tied his wrists, painfully jerking his arms up and forcing his whole torso under the cold water until he could taste the churning mud on the river bottom. He was held there until his mind dimmed. He knew he was drowning, so he went limp, hoping they would pull him up. He had no idea how long he was under, but by the time he was pulled out he could barely think at all. Burachek slapped him back to full consciousness, and he coughed water all over his shoes. The sky was a beautiful blue and he smiled at the bastard.

"Do not think you have won, Agent Deeks," Burachek said. "My next test will be longer and much more painful if you do not tell me who tended that wound in your leg."

"No one helped me," he choked out. "I learned first aid in the Boy Scouts, even though I only made it through Webelos."

"Another lie," he snapped, sounding exasperated.

"No, really...I only made it through Webelos." he insisted, shivering, but smiling. "Hard to believe, yeah? But I'm not lying, man."

"And I'm not stupid, Agent Deeks."

"Coulda fooled me."

Burachek's eyes suddenly went flat black, and he actually bared his teeth before kicking him over and off the pier into the shallows. Muddy water slapped him in the face as several militiamen dragged him deeper into the river. They shoved him up against one of the pilings and began tying his arms to it, leaving only his head above water. The river was freezing, and a deep feeling of panic rose in his chest as the dark water lapped over his shoulders. When they were finished, one man remained, slapping his cheek lightly, saying something in Ukrainian he didn't understand.

"Fuck off," Deeks spit out.

"Marco says...his turn," the man whispered in such a heavy accent that Deeks wasn't sure what he'd said at first.

When the man left, he scanned the willows that clogged the riverbank, and the thick grove of trees that traced the edge, hoping for some sign that he spoke the truth and that Petruso and Marco hadn't abandoned him. He began to have hope, but he knew it wouldn't take long for the icy water to sap whatever strength he had left. There was no way they would be able to free him until dark. Even if Burachek left him here that long, he wasn't sure he would survive the hypothermia before they got to him.

"My tests will only become harder to pass, Agent Deeks," Burachek said from the pier above him. "Tell me what I want to know. Why suffer? This is not your fight. This is not your country and these are not your people."

"They aren't your people either."

"I was born here. My mother was Ukrainian. My father Russian."

"What does your mother think about you terrorizing her people?" Deeks asked, wanting to get under his skin.

"My mother is dead," he replied. "Enjoy your bath, Agent Deeks. We will talk in a few hours. If you want to answer my questions before that, just beg. One of the men will come for me. I will be having a late lunch by the fireplace."

Deeks wanted to say something clever in response, but his teeth were chattering too hard. For a while he listened to the militiamen talking as they walked the pier. Several of them stood at the edge of the river, staring at him as they smoked and laughed. He searched their faces to see if one was the man who had mentioned Marco, but their faces began to blur as the cold seeped deeply into his bones. A great weariness eventually settled over him and he tried to think of some way to counteract it. He squished his toes in the muddy river bottom and closed his eyes, pretending he was in the ocean off one of his favorite California beaches. He pictured Kensi floating beside him on her surfboard, her smile warm and sexy. That worked for a while, but as the time passed, he couldn't focus on any one thing, his mind simply wandering as he longed for sleep.

"No, no, buddy. You need to pull an all-nighter," he said to himself. "No sleeping on the job."

Periodically, it was Sam's voice berating him, warning him to stay alert. Callen made an appearance as well, telling him to trust his training, but he couldn't remember what training he was supposed to trust. He was shivering violently now, and couldn't seem to keep his feet under him. He had no coordination, and he became angry with his own body. His thoughts became as muddy as the river bottom, and he found it hard to keep his head up. The water lapped against his face, making him come back to himself, but that was becoming harder and harder.

"Sorry, Kens," he mumbled. "I shouldn't...I shouldn't have let them sideline you like that. Forgive me, baby. Forgive me."

It was the last thought he had as he succumbed to the overpowering lassitude that sapped his remaining resistance.

A sharp slap on the face made him somewhat aware, but he could only groan in response as they cut him free and dragged him from the water. He was numb, and completely disoriented, wondering where he was and why he was so cold. The men on either side of him, holding him up by his arms, was the only thing keeping him from collapsing completely.

"You left him in the river too long, Yuri," a familiar voice making him struggle to understand what was going on. "How can he tell us anything? He cannot even walk."

"He does not have to walk. He only needs to give us names and places, so we can knock out these pockets of resistance before our main force comes," the man replied. "He has no fight left, and that is a good thing."

When they dropped him on the floor he managed to pull himself into a ball, instinctively trying to warm himself. He slowly realized he was in a house, but it made no sense and his mind clouded with random thoughts he couldn't connect.

"Put him on the table," someone said, and he was lifted and thrown onto a wooden table.

His mind drifted as sleep pulled at him, but that wasn't allowed, and he was slapped back to awareness. He couldn't feel his feet and his arms felt like lead. Water dripped from his hair and the taste of river water fill his mouth. He began to cough, leaving his throat raw and his body shaking. It was painful just to breathe. When he tried to wrap his arms around himself to ward off the throbbing cold, they were grabbed and held down.

"Cold..." he mumbled, and a man above him grabbed a fistful of his hair and slammed his head down on the table.

"Give me the names of the people who helped you and I will give you a blanket," the voice said.

"Who?"

"No more games, Deeks."

"Whac-a-Mole."

It was the first thing that came into his muddled mind. The man above his head didn't seem to like it at all, angrily yanking his head back.

"He is incoherent, Yuri," a familiar voice said and he searched the room to see who had spoken. "Let him get warm."

"Shut up, Symon," the man snapped.

Deeks' mind began to clear a little as he focused on Kalashnik's face, the man who had betrayed them. It was Burachek who held his head down and who now had his jaw in an iron grip.

"Who are your friends?" Burachek whispered as he bent over him. "Their names, Deeks. The ones who helped you. Their names, now...or I will have you dragged back in the river."

Fear sliced through his chest at the thought, and he struggled against the hold they had on him. It did no good. He was too weak, and he groaned at the pain his simple movement had caused.

"One name."

"Monty," he replied, and smiled.

"Monty who?" Burachek demanded.

"Monty...my dog," he replied dreamily. "He's a good boy..."

The vicious backhand coincided with the sound of an explosion, and he wondered if he was hallucinating. Suddenly he was free of the hands that held him down. Small arms fire cracked outside and men in the house shouted and ran, except for Burachek. He held him in place by his throat, cutting off his air and causing spots to dance across his dimming vision. The Russian angrily shouted to someone, giving an order before he released him. Two men dragged him off the table and down a dark hall. He sank to his knee shivering as a heavy metal door was unlocked. More Russian was shouted, and he lifted his head as he was dropped on the floor.

"Deeks?"

He had no energy to acknowledge his name, so he said nothing. He just wanted to sleep. Instead, two men manhandled him over to a post and shackled his ankle to it with a long chain, leaving him in a shivering heap on the cement floor.

"Deeks. Look at me," the voice said.

Whoever spoke was insistent, and he finally opened his eyes when he felt a warm hand on his cheek. He was too weak to resist when he was lifted and wrapped in a bear hug, the body warmth so welcome it brought tears to his eyes.

"Deeks. It's me."

"Sam?"

"I got you, brother," Sam said and pulled him gently to his chest. "You'll be okay, Deeks. You'll get through this."

"Okay, Sam...okay."

"You need to stay awake," Sam said. "Can you do that?"

"Uh huh," he murmured.

"Let's get you out of these wet clothes, okay?" Sam said, and pulled his t-shirt up and over his head.

Deeks had never felt this weak before, but now that he was with Sam, he felt safe. In the back of his mind, he knew that really wasn't true, but it was comforting for now. Sam eased him back down to the floor, and struggled out of his shirt. Deeks was shocked by the blood that streaked down his arm, and he realized the story he'd heard from Petruso was true.

"How bad?" Deeks asked.

"Through and through," Sam replied stoically as he covered Deeks with his jacket. "I see you took a round yourself."

"Shrapnel...hurts."

"Looks like someone did a good job stitching you up," Sam said. "But it's bleeding now."

"Uh, huh," his mind drifting again.

"Stay with me, brother."

Sam wrapped his arms around him and leaned back against the post, pulling Deeks with him, spreading his legs to accommodate his long body. Slowly his shivering eased as Sam's body heat began to penetrate the deep chill that gripped him. His head drooped to his chest, but Sam wouldn't let him sleep, constantly talking to keep him awake. The soft rumble of his voice was soothing compared to the shouts and screams, and the sound of automatic weapons crackling in the intense firefight taking place outside.

"Got any idea who's out there?" Sam asked.

"Ukrainian smuggler and a thief who loves cookies."

"Friends of yours?"

"Not sure, but Hetty put the fear of God in them," he replied slowly, wanting to sleep again.

"You talked to Hetty?" Sam asked. "How?"

"NATO sat phone," he whispered wearily. "Broken...but the Cookie Monster fixed it."

Sam laughed. "You're goofier than usual, Deeks, but hypothermia does that to you. It's good to hear. We thought you were dead. The guys outside find you?"

"No. Petruso's father did," he mumbled sleepily, causing Sam to warn him once again to stay awake. "His sister Ivanna used to be a nurse. Patched me up."

"It would be good to see another friendly face right about now," Sam said.

Deeks slowly realized Sam hadn't mentioned Callen, and it scared him. "Sam? What happened to Callen?"

"I don't know."

...

...


	5. Chapter 5

**Ashes on the Wind**

_Chapter 5_

...

Deeks jerked awake as an explosion tore through the wall behind them, shooting thick chunks of plaster and lath over them both. Sam reacted immediately, rolling him over and covering him with his own body, protecting him as best he could. Shouts echoed off the walls, and choking dust filled the room, making it almost impossible to make out who had charged into the breach. Sam tried to fight the men who suddenly surrounded them, but he was pulled away, leaving Deeks feeling vulnerable and angry.

"Leave him alone!" Deeks yelled as he desperately tried to get up.

"Deeks. Stay still, man," Sam said. "You'll hurt yourself."

"We will all be hurt if we do not get moving," Petruso shouted. "Marko! Bring Deeks. I will take black man."

"You're not taking me anywhere," Sam said and knocked Petruso on his butt.

"Sam! It's okay," Deeks said, ginning wearily at the furious look on Petruso's face. "Meet the smuggler and the Cookie Monster."

"My daughter loves Cookie Monster," Marko said as he knelt beside him. "Petruso. Get off ass and help. They are chained to post."

"I will leave ungrateful black man here," Petruso said to Deeks. "I only agree to rescue you. Not your bastard friend."

"I told you he was dangerous," Deeks mumbled, finding it hard to breathe.

"Truso. Deeks is not good," Marko said. "He needs to get warm. Shut up now and shoot off lock before assholes come."

"Him I like," Sam said to Petruso. "You...not so much."

"Good. I don't like you either, black man," he replied, but reached for the lock that held the shackle on his ankle together. "Don't move. Hetty lady won't be happy if I shoot off ugly foot."

The lock exploded into pieces, and as soon as he was free, Sam moved to Deeks' side, holding his foot steady as Petruso fired again.

"You got a plan?" Sam asked. "Other than blowing stuff up."

"You are free," Petruso snapped. "Be happy, black man."

"Call me Sam or I'm gonna knock you on your ass again."

"We have boat," Marko said as he pulled Deeks to his feet. "Now we go."

"Go where?" Sam asked as he helped Marko with Deeks.

"You ask too many questions," Petruso said, and headed for the opening he'd blown in the wall. "Trust me."

The firefight outside still raged in the falling darkness. Tracers arced and muzzle flashes revealed the positions of a scattered force of fighters, if only briefly. The front of the house was on fire, and a patrol boat revved its motor and tried to retreat across the river, only to be blown out of the water by an RPG. Deeks wondered where all these men had come from, two of them watching their backs as they headed into the woods. As much as he wanted to know, he didn't have the energy to ask, concentrating instead on trying to put one foot in front of the other. He was shivering again, even though he now had on Marko's jacket as well as Sam's shirt. He had underwear, but it was still damp, so he definitely missed having pants. Neither one of them had shoes, which made the hurried trek to the river rough going. He knew Sam had to be in pain from the gunshot wound in his arm, but like he had in Mexico, he didn't let it slow him down. It made Deeks feel guilty for his own weakness. When three men suddenly stepped out of the trees, he felt Sam recoil and drop his arm as he prepared to fight.

"Friends," Marko quickly said. "They bring boat."

"Where we headed?" Sam asked.

"They will want you back, so we go someplace they do not think we will go," Petruso said. "A place where we can defend ourselves."

"Hetty must have promised you a lot of money," Sam said, bearing Deeks' full weight as they continued along the narrow path through the undergrowth.

"Yes, but I do not do this only for money," Petruso said. "I watched Russian bastard torture Deeks. Russian was mean sonofabitch, but Deeks was strong. He did not break. He suffered to protect my family. That is worth more than money. For that I will protect him...and maybe you...if you do not knock me on my ass again."

"You don't piss me off, and I won't kick your ass," Sam replied, making Deeks laugh.

"Take the deal, Petruso," Deeks said. "I've seen him kick ass."

"He is not only one who knows how to kick ass," Petruso bragged. "It is what I wanted to do to Russian bastard who tried to drown you."

"How did you know I didn't give up your family?" Deeks asked.

"I was in rubber boat on other side of pier."

"Seriously? That was dangerously close. Why?"

"So I could shoot you if I need to," he replied with a shrug.

"Awesome," Deeks said under his breath.

"I'm definitely not trusting this guy, Deeks," Sam said, looking straight at Petruso.

"Don't worry...I will not shoot him now," Petruso said. "But you. No promises for you."

They were fairly far downriver when the man on point stopped and held up his fist, and they all became quiet. A man in camo fatigues walked out of the willows and brushed past the point man. Sam smiled and reached out to shake his hand.

"Vasyl Tymko," Sam said. "Glad you made it, man."

"I did not believe it when this man told me Deeks was alive," he said. "Now you. It is good day. But you are wounded."

Deeks remembered him. He was second in command of the militia unit that had been assigned to them for the covert op. He didn't look as if he'd made it out completely unscathed from the look of his uniform, but he had survived, and now had come back to fight. He had one of his men bring Sam a camo jacket, and another dressed the wound in his arm, and put a fresh bandage on Deeks' calf. Vasyl apologized that he had no pants for him, but generously offered pain medication and bottled water, making him feel almost human.

"We need to go now," Vasyl said. "I have told my men by the pier to fall back."

"Did you see Kalashnik back there?" Deeks asked.

"He is here?" Vasyl asked, grabbing his jacket.

"Yeah...with a Russian named Yuri Burachek."

"We should never have trusted Kalashnik," he said. "I told commander this. He said CIA gave him no choice. Kalashnik has contacts high up in your government. If we don't use him, operation is dead."

"Good ol' Washington," Sam said with disgust.

"Sonofabitch," Deeks said.

"Your commander is stupid bastard," Petruso said, spitting on the ground at his feet. "He got Mykola Chayka killed. He was like brother to me."

"The commander is dead," Vasyl said quietly. "I am sorry about Mykola. He was a good soldier."

"Too much talk," Marko said, appearing out of the darkness with a pair of pants and muddy boots in his hand. "For you, Deeks."

"Where the hell did you get those?"

"Man did not need them anymore," he replied. "What? You are cold. Need pants."

"I definitely like this guy," Sam laughed, and helped Deeks put them on. "You didn't happen to find a pair of shoes my size did you?"

"Only one dead man," he replied.

"I wish you hadn't said that," Deeks said, grimacing at the thought of putting on a dead man's pants and walking in his shoes.

"It's all about survival, brother," Sam said, squeezing his shoulder.

The dull thud of an explosion had everyone looking back toward the house they had just escaped from. A fireball roiled into the night sky and the sound of exploding ammunition quickly got them moving. The distant shouts and screams of dying men followed them down the slight slope to the river, where a few Ukrainian militiamen stood nervously waiting. Sam halted, his mouth open, as he stared at a ratty, weather-beaten old wooden boat with high gunwales painted a garish blue.

"What the hell is that?"

"I think that's our ride, Sam," Deeks replied with a soft grin.

"That's the best you could come up with?" He asked Petruso. "How old is that boat?"

"This is good solid boat. Is well known on Oskil River," Petruso said, sounding defensive and pissed. "You two hide under tarp. My men, Tymko and his militiamen will hide on bottom. Marko and me...we will drive boat past pier on dark side of the river. Go upstream. Toward Russian border."

"No, no," Tymko said. "That will be too dangerous. We go downriver."

"Sorry, Vasyl, but I'm with Petruso on this one," Sam said. "Callen's somewhere near the Russian border, and I need to find him."

"Then I am sorry too," Vasyl replied. "I cannot risk my men for this. I have lost too many. If an attack comes, I will need men to defend this area."

"Vasyl, please. You know why we came here," Sam pleaded. "That Russian defector we were here to connect with has intel on Russian plans for a major military attack on your country. If we don't get that intel, neither you or your government will know when or where you'll be hit, and Eastern Ukraine will be lost. No one will be safe here. The Russian army will run roughshod over this area and people will die."

"There is no guarantee you will find this man now," Vasyl argued. "They have Callen. They will torture him until he tells them the defector's name."

"Callen won't break."

"I do not believe that," he replied.

"You are coward," Petruso said evenly. "You are from Kiev. The people here are my people and Marko's people. I care if they die. You don't. So go. Run home with tail between legs. Kiss wife and children while our families suffer. I spit on you."

There was a brief, but heated exchange in Ukrainian, which Marko ignored. He took Deeks' arm and helped him into the boat. A wool greatcoat lay on the bottom and he motioned for Deeks to lie down. It was obvious that he and Petruso were with them for the long run, but whether they would have additional protection from Vasyl Tymko's militiamen was questionable. Petruso looked ready to kill the man, while Marko looked on with growing irritation.

"Truso. Stop!" He finally said. "You will never convince this man. He has helped us today and now he is done. We must go now and pick up prisoner before someone finds him."

"What prisoner?" Deeks asked.

"Your ass is on Russian bastard's coat," Marko laughed. "Is warm. Yes?"

Deeks was stunned by an unexpected image that flashed through his mind. "You captured Burachek?"

"Marko wanted to kill him, but I thought he might be good for something," Petruso said. "What? I know valuable asset when I see it. Maybe trade him for your friend."

"I hate to say it, but I'm beginning to like the way you think," Sam said, slapping Petruso on the back so hard it made him stumble.

"Get in boat, big man," Petruso said. "I want to hear about Russian defector."

"Be very careful of this man, Sam Hanna," Vasyl warned, and handed him two pistols and two ammo clips. "He is a known criminal...a smuggler and a thief."

"But you came when he called you," Sam said. "Why?"

"He hates Russians."

"But I like to steal from them," Petruso said as he climbed into the boat.

Deeks was smiling when Sam looked over at him, nodding as they silently agreed not to tell Petruso anything about Callen's ancestry, including his real name.

"I cannot go with you, but my men will cover you until you are out of sight," Vasyl said.

Sam shook his hand before stepping into the boat, handing Deeks one of the pistols before lying down beside him. Marko moved into the bow, pulling the musty tarp over them both. Three of Petruso's men pushed the boat off and scrambled in around them. When the motor coughed to life, Deeks pulled Marko's jacket tightly around himself, shivering once again, the pistol pressed against his chest. The drone of the engine and the rocking motion of the old boat as it moved slowly against the current, lulled Deeks into a semi-conscience state. As much as he tried to remain alert, his mind drifted back to his ordeal and to the man who orchestrated it. His thoughts remained muddled, and he wondered if he'd imagined Marko saying they had captured Burachek, but then reminded himself he was lying on the man's coat.

"Hang in there, Deeks," Sam whispered behind him as he drifted into a troubled sleep.

He woke when the boat bumped against the riverbank, the low hanging branches of trees scraping over them. Sam threw the tarp off and rose up on one elbow as flashlight beams cut through the dark, highlighting gnarled roots and tree trunks washed by waves from the boat.

"There," Marko said, and Deeks sat up so he could see what the man was pointing at.

Yuri Burachek was tied tightly to the trunk of one of the trees, up to his chest in cold dark water. Duct tape was wrapped over his mouth and around the back of his head. His face was heavily bruised and streaked with dried blood. When the flashlight beam hit his eyes he squinted, recoiling with annoyance and obvious anger.

"Awesome," Deeks said as Marko turned to smile at him.

"This is justice. Yes?" Marko said.

"The bastard was running away," Petruso said.

His men cut Burachek down and he went under, floundering in the shallows before they hauled him over the gunwale into the bow. His eyes were wide and dead black until he saw Deeks, then they narrowed, brilliant with hatred. He suddenly lurched forward, trying to reach him, but Sam hit him, breaking his nose, and knocking him backwards into the bottom of the boat.

"If we didn't need you, I'd leave you here," he told him. "But you try that again and I'll throw you overboard and keelhaul your ass all the way to Russia."

"I am starting to like your friend, Deeks," Petruso said. "I do not know what this keelhaul is, but if it is painful for Russian then I like it."

"I ask Google when we get to house," Marko said.

Petruso gave a sharp order to one of his men, and Burachek was quickly blindfolded, his wrists tied behind his back and attached to his ankles. Marko covered him with the tarp and their trip upriver continued.

"Wish I hadn't left the sat phone in that truck," Deeks said as he leaned back against the side of the boat, staring up at the dusting of stars above them. "When I last talked with Hetty, I hadn't found you yet. She was told we were all dead."

"Let me guess. CIA," Sam said.

"Kalashnik."

"Did you talk to Kensi?" He asked. "She must have been going out of her mind."

"Didn't get the chance."

Petruso nudged Deeks' leg and smiled, tossing him the sat phone. "Call little lady, Hetty. Tell her how I save two asses for price of one."

"And how much would that be?" Sam asked.

"Original price was twenty thousand euros," Petruso said. "Hetty promise double. I think I charge extra for you."

"No surprise there," Sam said.

"Who is this Russian defector you look for?" Petruso asked.

"Can't risk telling you that with him in the boat," Sam said, jerking his head toward Burachek.

"He will not tell anyone," Marko said.

"Thought we were going to trade him for Callen?" Deeks said.

"We make deal...get Callen...kill Burachek," Petruso said, ticking the points off with his fingers.

There was a muffled shout from Burachek as he kicked at the tarp that covered him. Marko smiled, and then clubbed him with his assault rifle, silencing the man. Sam took the phone and called Hetty, their conversation short and to the point. Deeks didn't know what she had told him, but heard him briefly mention the torture he'd endured. It allowed him to be prepared when he handed the phone over with Kensi on the other end.

"Deeks? Baby? Are you okay?" She sounded scared and angry.

"I am now," he replied softly.

"Hetty said you were wounded," she said, and Deeks realized Hetty hadn't told her he'd been tortured.

"Apparently your own personal jungle cat can't dodge shrapnel," he said, wanting to keep things light. "Don't worry. All organs present and accounted for."

"I should have been there," she said, still angry at being left behind.

"I missed you," he replied. "Still do."

"Where are you?"

"Somewhere on the Oskil River near the Russian border."

"I'm glad Sam's with you," she said, her voice turning tender and comforting.

"Me too, but I like your hugs better."

"I know there's something you and Hetty aren't telling me, but I'm trusting you to come home to me in one piece," she said. "You should know I'm still making my case to be part of your exfil."

"Awesome," he said, missing her deeply. "I love you, Kens."

"I love you too, baby."

He felt empty when the call ended, but hearing her voice was the encouragement he'd needed, his adrenaline now surging with his desire to complete the mission and get home to her. There were some good natured queries about Kensi from Marko, who would translate his answers for the others, who laughed and smiled, making him wonder what their families were like. It was hard to picture Marko with a wife and family, even though he now knew he had a daughter who watched Sesame Street and loved the Cookie Monster.

They all eventually quieted down, the only sound coming from the chugging motor of the boat and the deep pulsing music of frogs, accompanied by a chorus of crickets. It had grown late, and most of them had slowly been lulled into a sort of stupor, except for Sam, who urged Deeks to get some sleep. He'd almost succeeded when Petruso suddenly cut the engine and steered the boat toward the bank. His men grabbed weapons and readied themselves as the distinct sound of a powerful engine broke the silence of the night. This section of the river was full of twists and turns, and even though they couldn't see the boat, they could hear it approaching fast.

"River patrol," Petruso whispered, as he snugged the boat against the heavily wooded bank.

The bow of a dull gray military patrol boat powered past the bend in the river, a spotlight skimming the surface of the water and lighting up either bank in turn as it moved downriver. As the beam of light crisscrossed the water, it missed them repeatedly, and they began to breathe easier. Soldiers could be seen searching the riverbanks with binoculars as the boat passed by. Deeks heard Petruso blow out his breath and then hold it as someone began shouting from the patrol boat. A spotlight swung toward them, lighting up the riverbank on its path to their location. Petruso gave an order in Ukrainian, and Marko yanked the tarp off Burachek, grabbed him under the arms and pulled him over the side and into the water. Deeks immediately understood as Petruso's men abandoned the boat. Sam nodded and slid overboard, waiting for him as Petruso helped him over the gunwale. Deeks felt the shock of cold water once again, his legs cramping as he tried to swim after Marko and the others. He panicked as he went under, but Sam came up behind him, wrapping his arm around his chest and pulling him along the side the riverbank. The motor on their little boat suddenly sputtered to life and the throttle was opened full out. It shot by them and out toward the middle of the river. Deeks couldn't make out Petruso at the tiller, but the blue boat never changed course. The soldiers on the patrol boat were now yelling loudly and firing wildly as the big patrol boat came about, its spotlight lighting up the small vessel. All of them treaded water and watched as bullets tore holes in their little boat, splintering the wood until finally hitting the engine. The explosion ripped through what remained of her, sending pieces flying into the sky to cascade down on the river. There was nothing left when the patrol boat reached her.

"Swim, idiots," Petruso ordered as his head popped up out of the water. "They will look for bodies. I don't want to be one."

They swam downriver until they came to a narrow tributary, treading water and listening to the shouts echoing back over the water.

"Russians," Petruso said, and began swimming up the meandering stream.

Deeks began to tire as they bucked the current, but Sam held him firmly to his chest, moving easily through the water. His chills returned, and so did his confusion. He lost track of time and for the reason they were in the water, his last clear memory being a conversation with Kensi. The rest was just a jumble of remembered explosions. A low whistle made Sam stop and look over at Petruso, and Deeks did the same. He was smiling.

"Marko's safe house," he whispered and swam past.

The stream eddied into a placid pond. A low wooden pier pierced the cattails of the marshland surrounding it. Two of the men were already pulling themselves up onto the pier, and reached down to haul a man up and out of the water.

"What's happening?" Deeks murmured.

"Hang tough, brother," Sam said against his ear. "We'll get you warm soon, Deeks. I promise."

"Is Kensi here?" He asked. "I talked to her earlier...I think."

Sam's grip on him tightened, and he began to kick faster through the calm water of the pond. Deeks felt listless and tried to pay attention to what Sam was saying to him, but he couldn't seem to care. He just wanted to sleep.

"Deeks!" Marko's sharp tone and slap on the face snapped him awake.

He was lying on the wooden pier, his clothes soaking wet and deadly cold. "Kens?"

"I got 'im," Sam said, and pulled him up onto his shoulders in a fireman's carry.

He fought to stay awake, concentrating on the old, hip roofed wooden house at the end of the pier. Half of the roof was actually thatched, but the other was covered in corrugated metal, rusted with age. The walls were flat boards, and the shuttered windows were tiny, but glowed with warm light. A wide deck fronted the house and Sam moved quickly up its two low steps, waiting while Marko banged on the door. When it opened, an old man stood silhouetted in the doorway. He was holding a Russian assault rifle and it was pointed directly at Marko, but only for a second. The rush of Ukrainian was followed by smiles and they were quickly ushered inside.

The warmth of the air in the room felt blissful, and he groaned his relief. An ancient looking woman in an oversized yellow sweater beckoned to Sam, leading the way into a side room with a wide bed covered in quilts. Sam set him down and began to strip off his clothes, while the woman gathered more coverlets. He still had the sense to be embarrassed by his nakedness, especially when the old woman smiled at him. But she held a finger to her lips as if to quiet him, and he sheepishly grinned back at her as he sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled part of the coverlet over himself. She left briefly, returning with a towel and began drying his hair. The old man followed with a steaming mug of tea, and the old woman made sure he drank all of it, clicking her tongue at him whenever he stopped. By the time they got him in bed, he was shivering violently, whispering Kensi's name as he huddled under the covers. The old woman pushed Sam out of the room despite his protests, calling out something that brought a younger woman rushing in. She held a long ceramic container that she slipped under the covers by his feet. It was wonderfully warm on his freezing feet, and he smiled at the comfort of it. He felt more blankets being piled on top of him, and his shivering slowly eased. The last thing he remembered was the old lady pressing a hot cloth over his face, speaking softly to him in her native tongue. He didn't understand a word, but her kindness was a universal language, one that comforted him as he slipped into a peaceful sleep.

...

...


	6. Chapter 6

**Ashes on the Wind**

_Chapter 6_

...

It was Sam's snores that woke him. A pale sun streamed through the small window on the opposite wall, highlighting the man slumped in a low-slung chair beside his bed. It didn't look comfortable, but as memories from yesterday gradually emerged, it wasn't surprising that he was sleeping so hard. Deeks slowly rolled over onto his back, luxuriating in the warmth of the bed. He wiggled his toes and flexed his fingers, thankful he could feel them. He thought he'd never be warm again, and lightly touched on the thoughts and memories that lingered in his mind from the ordeal he'd endured. The thought that he could have died from exposure wouldn't leave him. It wasn't the way he thought his life would end. He'd always loved the exhilarating shock of the cold water of the Pacific whenever he hit the waves for a surf. But, he knew how dangerous long-term exposure to cold was, and tried never to stay in so long as to cause a chill he couldn't recover from. But this time, he'd had no control. The same feeling of dull acceptance he'd experienced during the last agonizing hour of being tied to the piling of that pier returned, and he moaned and covered his face with his hands.

"You're safe, brother," Sam said, gently squeezing his shoulder.

"I've never been that cold, Sam. I almost gave up," he mumbled. "I couldn't think straight."

"When has your thought process ever traveled in a straight line, Deeks?"

"Touché," Deeks said with a grin, but it faded quickly. "Really, Sam. I honestly thought that bastard was gonna let me die in that river."

"He wasn't done with you yet," Sam said. "Or me either."

"God, Sam...did he...?"

"Psychologically...but I'm pretty sure that was just for starters," he replied. "He actually smiled when he described in detail what he'd done to Callen. Not convinced it was the truth though."

"I hope it wasn't," Deeks said.

"Yeah, me too," Sam replied in a whisper as he leaned back in the chair. "He said he'd seen your remains. Said you'd been hit by a rocket. He took a lot of pleasure in telling me explicitly what the explosion had done to you."

"Sonofabitch."

"Yeah...he is. A sick one."

"When I came to after the attack, I found a dead guy...badly burned...just bones really," Deeks said. "I kept staring at it...trying to tell if it was you or Callen. I tried to turn away...but I couldn't."

"We lost track of you during the shelling," Sam said, gripping his arm as if he might disappear. "Scared me. Callen too. We got cut off by the pro-Russian militia that hit us, but we shoulda found a way back to you. I'm sorry, Deeks."

"You shouldn't be. You're alive. Never apologize for that," Deeks said. "Everyone told me you'd been shot and killed, and said the Russians had Callen."

"You know...Burachek lied to both of us," Sam said. "Maybe he's lying about G, too."

"Maybe we should ask him."

"Of, believe me...we will," Sam said. "But first, let's get you up and see how you're doing."

The clothes he'd had on yesterday were neatly folded on a dresser beneath the far window, and smelled of woodsmoke. A knitted scarf the color of butter, had been added, much like the one Sam had wrapped around his neck. The room was cool, so he dressed as quickly as he could, still a bit shaky on his feet. A thick pair of wool socks was stuffed in the dead man's boots, and once he was dressed he felt almost human again. Sam looped the yellow knitted scarf around his neck and smiled.

"I think you found your color, Deeks."

"You too, brother."

"I don't know what that little grandma is making for breakfast, but the smell is making my mouth water," Sam said as he opened the door to the main room.

"Kovbasa," Deeks said. "Sausages."

"I'm sorry Callen is missing this," Sam said sadly. "He loves sausage."

Deeks didn't remember much from last night, and stopped to admire what looked like the inside of an old fashioned log cabin. Thick wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling, the walls unpainted except for a frieze of painted flowers circling the room above the windows. The furniture was old and overstuffed, with woven coverlets draped over the backs. A couple of ancient looking snowshoes hung above the fireplace, the fire crackling as Marko stooped to place another log on the burning pile, sending sparks swirling up the chimney. A long wooden table bordered a rustic looking kitchen, the stove looking like it came straight out of the fifties, and the ceiling dripping with blackened pots and pans. When the old lady in the yellow sweater saw him, she left what she was doing and hurried toward him, concern etched on her face.

"Babky Katrya likes you," Marko said. "She misses her onuky."

"What's that?" Deeks asked, as the woman fussed over him.

"Grandchildren," Petruso said from a dark corner by the door. "She has two. Both boys. They left to go to university. Never came back."

"She is everyone's Baba now," Marko said.

"You related?" Sam asked.

"No," both men said at once, looking at each other until Petruso shrugged.

"She is witch," he said.

"Seriously?" Deeks said, grinning in disbelief. "Come on."

"A good witch. A healer," Petruso said, biting into a small apple. "She made you special tea, and you are good today. Yes?"

"You are freaking me out right now," Deeks said, looking sideways at the little woman.

"She kinda reminds me of Hetty," Sam said, grinning at Deeks. "You know...mysterious. A little dangerous, but in a good way."

The old woman suddenly knelt down and wrapped her hands around the shrapnel wound in his leg. Deeks backpedaled and she scolded him in terse Ukrainian.

"Careful, Deeks," Sam laughed. "She might put a curse on you."

"No, no. Not funny...not funny at all," Deeks replied as the woman began pushing him back toward the couch, talking the whole way.

"She wants to look at wound," Petruso said, smirking at him just like Sam was doing.

"Why?"

Petruso questioned the woman, his face growing serious as she pointed at him. Deeks didn't like that and tried to get up, only to be pushed back down by Marko.

"Somebody want to tell me what's going on?" Deeks asked, growing angry at the attention.

"She says wound is infected," Petruso said. "But she says she has medicine."

"Definitely reminds me of Hetty," Sam said. "Only thing missing are the rubber gloves."

"You are enjoying this way to much," Deeks complained.

"No...I'm not," Sam said sternly. "Going after Callen won't be easy and you need to be able to keep up. This woman..."

"Babky Katrya," Marko added.

"She's offering to help you, Deeks. Don't dismiss her skills just because you don't understand them," Sam said. "Folk medicine has been around since the Stone Age. Besides...I don't see a walk-in clinic around here. Do you?"

"Okay, but if my leg turns green and falls off, I'm telling Kensi it was your fault."

"Fair enough, brother. Now, drop trou," Sam ordered as the old woman returned with a bowl of some foul smelling concoction.

Once he was stretched out on the couch and the bandage unwrapped, even Deeks had to admit the wound looked ugly. The witch lady carefully prepared a poultice with the goop from the bowl, and placed it gently over the exposed wound, wrapping it tightly around his calf. She smiled at him and patted him on the cheek, pulling a coverlet down over him. The old man brought over another cup of herb tea and she watched to make sure he drank all of it. When he was done, she took the cup and got up, humming as she headed back to the kitchen. Whatever was in the tea made him sleepy, but he stayed awake long enough to have a couple of sausages and a bowl of some kind of porridge with sweetened milk. When Sam told him they were going out on recon, he could only mumble his acknowledgment and clutch the pistol he placed on his chest before drifting off.

...

He was shaken awake by one of Petruso's men, who pulled him up and hurried him back into the bedroom. The man didn't speak English, but the tension in his voice was all the warning Deeks needed. He checked the gun Sam had left with him and moved to the small window at the end of the bed to take a look outside. Four armed men were coming up the pier, leaving a lone man standing at the end.

"Kalashnik."

Petruso's man had gone out on the porch with his own assault weapon held at the ready. As he held up his hand to warn them to stop, they shot him down. He heard the old man call out to his wife from the main room when the attackers began pounding on the front door, trying to get in. Kalashnik was here for him, and he knew his men would kill anyone who stood in their way. He yanked open the bedroom door and motioned to the old couple to move back. When Deeks saw one of the men pause on the other side of the front window he fired, shattering the glass and taking him down. The door suddenly burst open and Deeks fired again, killing the first man in and then the second. The third got off a shot, but it went wide when Deeks' bullet slammed into his throat, sending him stumbling backward out the door. He fell off the porch and Deeks shot him a second time as he rushed by to get to Kalashnik, firing at the man as he fled in the boat he'd come in. He was breathing hard by the time he got to the end of the pier, his heart pounding as he continued to fire at the boat even after it had rounded a spit of land and was now out of sight.

"Sonofabitch!"

He turned back toward the house, worried that one of the attackers was still alive and might hurt the old couple. As he hurried along the path he realized he wasn't limping and felt very little pain.

"Maybe she is a witch," he said, softly grinning at the thought. "But she's our witch."

The old woman was moving between the dead and dying men, muttering something he couldn't understand. Whether it was a blessing or a curse he didn't know, but it was too late for either now.

"Deeks?"

Sam's shout came from a grove of oak trees bordering the pond. All of them came on the run, Petruso shouting orders to his two remaining men, who peeled off and disappeared behind the house. Deeks secured the rifle of the dead man lying in front of him as he waited for the men to reach him. Sam stopped and grabbed him, staring into his eyes before wrapping him in a bear hug.

"You okay?" He huffed out when he stepped back to look him over.

"I'm good, but Petruso's guard didn't make it," he replied. "I'm sorry. I should have fired as soon as I saw Kalashnik."

"He was here?" Petruso asked, and Deeks nodded.

"I know this man," Marko said, kicking the corpse at his feet. "He knows Babky Katrya. Bastard. It is good you kill him. I hope she put curse on his grave."

"Sorry about your man," Deeks said to Petruso. "They killed him before he could get a shot off."

"You did this?" He asked. "You kill these four men?"

"Yeah. Just a little too late," Deeks replied.

"You look surprised," Sam said to Petruso.

Petruso simply shrugged, but didn't reply. Something had changed in his demeanor though, a subtle look in his eyes that Deeks couldn't quite decipher. Maybe he had surprised the man, or maybe now Petruso was wary of him, and Deeks couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not.

"We must go. Now," Petruso said. "This place is not safe. Kalashnik will bring more men next time."

"What about Katrya and the old man?" Deeks asked.

"They are already gone," Marko said. "She is witch. Remember?"

"Or just a smart survivor," Sam said. "Now it's our turn."

"We go through the woods," Petruso said. "Yaryna will meet us."

"She is witch in training," Marko laughed.

"She is fighter," Petruso growled back at him.

"Truso is in love with her," Marko giggled.

Another argument erupted between the two men. The Ukrainian sounded rough as they came face to face, the veins in Petruso's neck bulging in anger. Marko laughed at him, making Deeks wonder once again how the two maintained their bond despite their differences.

"Come on, Deeks," Sam said. "Lets go haul Burachek's ass out here."

"They remind me a little of you and Callen," Deeks said. "But with a lot less yelling."

"We met with Yaryna and her father," Sam said. "He thinks he knows where the Russians might be keeping Callen...if they have him."

"Where?"

Sam didn't answer until he'd untied Burachek and hauled him to his feet. "An abandoned estate on a bluff above the river."

Deeks saw Burachek's eyes widen slightly, but he hid his mistake quickly. Sam had seen the man's revealing expression too, and smiled at Deeks as he shoved the man toward the door. The Russian looked like someone had roughed him up to make him talk, and Deeks wondered if Sam had been a part of that. He cared deeply about Callen. They were brothers in every sense of the word, but beating someone wasn't Sam's way. At least it hadn't been up until now. Maybe he had become so desperate to find Callen that he had crossed that line. Deeks knew what that felt like. He had willingly stepped over that very line when trying to find Kensi in Afghanistan, so he couldn't fault Sam if he'd done the same. As much as they all tried to hold themselves to a higher standard, when it came to family, the line became blurred. That became especially true when one of them was in the hands of those who made a living on the other side of that line.

They weren't really sure who had Callen. Was it the Russians? Or were Kalashnik and his mafia friends still holding him, angling for a higher payoff? If Burachek's reaction to the abandoned estate Sam had mentioned was any indication, then that's where they were keeping him, and they would find out soon enough. The big question was would they take Burachek in exchange for Callen? If the mafia had him, Deeks worried that deal might not make much sense to them. If the Russians held him, was Burachek valuable enough to make the exchange worth it? If neither scenario worked, then their only choice was a rescue that would put them all at risk, making him wonder just how far he could trust Petruso and Marko, and the men who followed them.

"Awesome," Deeks said solemnly to himself, pushing Burachek in front of him as they walked under the heavy limbs of the oaks that grew alongside the stream.

If he hadn't been alert for an ambush at any minute, this would be a pleasant walk. Birds chattered and sang in the canopy above them, and two squirrels skittered around the broad trunk of an oak, stopping to watch them when they walked by. The deep pulsing sound of bullfrogs paused the minute they got close to the edge of the marsh and the cattails that hid them. An egret lifted off a dead branch and glided over the slow moving stream until landing far out on a tiny island choked with reeds and low growing willows. Kensi would like this place, and he was suddenly filled with a deep longing for her. She had to be frustrated that she wasn't here with him, and he smiled, knowing she was probably making life miserable for those around her.

His mind lingered on her as they walked, taking solace from the images of her floating around in his head. A soft whistle stopped them all, and Deeks was immediately on guard, the forest now seeming dark and ominous instead of a lovely spot for an afternoon nature walk. Five people walked out into a sunny glade just beyond the trees. They were armed with Russian rifles, and Deeks shoved Burachek to the ground, moving in front of him with his gun up.

Petruso turned and smiled at him. "Yaryna and my men."

He bumped Marko with his shoulder as he strode quickly out of the trees, crossing the meadow to greet them.

"He is finished," Marko said, stepping up beside him. "She shoot better than him, but he still love her."

"Sounds like Kensi," Deeks said, wishing she was the one running to greet him.

The woman had tied a dark flowered scarf over her short red hair. She wore lace up hiking boots over jeans, and a tight black sweater covered by a khaki jacket hugged her hips. She slung the Russian rifle over her back before she stepped up to hug Petruso. The men surrounding them smiled and looked away, except for one. He shook his head and started toward them with his assault rifle held close to his chest. Sam gripped his own rifle and looked ready to defend himself, and Deeks did the same. They didn't know these men, and had no reason to trust them.

"This man coming is Viktor Bidenko," Marko said. "He was in mafia. No more. They think he is dead. Hates Kalashnik."

"Is that why he's helping us?" Deeks asked.

"He does not come to help," he replied. "He comes to kill Kalashnik."

"Why?"

"You will see."

"Okay," Deeks said. "Do you trust him?"

"No, but he knows place we go to," Marko said. "He will take us there."

He was scanning the perimeter as he walked, but when he got closer, Deeks noticed that the left side of his face was deeply scarred, as if he had been in a fire. When he saw Deeks staring at him, he slowed, his eyes dark and defiant. Marko greeted him, but the man kept his eyes on Deeks until he saw Burachek on his knees beside him.

"Who is your prisoner?" He asked, his accent smooth and very slight.

"His name's Yuri Burachek," Deeks answered.

"FSB," Bidenko said.

"Probably," Sam said.

Bidenko raised his rifle and shot Burachek point blank in the head.

"What the fuck?" Deeks shouted and charged the man.

Bidenko sidestepped him and shoved him to the ground, the muzzle of his rifle instantly pressed into the back of Deeks' head before anyone could respond.

"Yaryna told me you wanted to trade a Russian agent for an American one," Bidenko said calmly. "This will not work. So, it is better we kill him now."

"And who the hell put you in charge?" Sam demanded.

"I did," Yaryna answered. "Victor has new information."

"If he doesn't let Deeks up right now he won't be alive to share it," Sam warned, his pistol now pointed directly at Bidenko's face.

"You shoot me, I pull the trigger and he dies," Bidenko said.

"Not if I sever your spinal cord," Sam said.

"Are you that good?"

"You willing to find out?"

Bidenko lifted the gun and spread his arms away from his body. "I wasn't going to kill him. He's the reason I'm here."

"You want to explain that?" Deeks asked, his anger hot as he got up and began brushing off leaves.

"We have a mutual friend," Bidenko said with a coy smile.

"Yeah? And who the hell might that be?"

"Anatoli Kirkin."

"You've got to be kidding me," Deeks said, turning away with a low groan.

"How the hell did Kirkin get involved in this?" Sam said, but then stopped and shook his head. "Hetty recruited him."

"Who is this man Kirkin?" Petruso demanded.

"He is Russian...with a criminal organization operating in America," Bidenko said. "Deeks is very special to him. He told me he loves your hair very much. Claims they frolicked in a Russian bath house together."

"Now you're just being mean," Deeks said, his anger spiking as the man smirked. "I wasn't frolicking, I was undercover...underwater...whatever. It's not important."

"It is to Kirkin," Bidenko said. "He learned from this woman Hetty that you were in danger, and he sent me to protect you and get you out of Ukraine."

"And just how do you know Kirkin," Sam asked. "Any frolicking involved?"

"That is none of your business," he replied softly. "I owe him. He saved my life."

"From Kalashnik?" Deeks asked.

"Yes. He was a mafia enforcer back then," Bidenko said. "He did this to me and Kirkin knew that if he was involved I would come. You probably won't understand, but I need to kill him for what he did to me."

"Yeah, I get that," Deeks replied, looking over at Sam as he recalled what they both suffered at the hands of Siderov.

"I doubt that. You have no scars that I can see."

"Doesn't mean they aren't there," Sam said. "Now leave it alone, and tell us about the new information you supposedly have."

"As you probably know, this area is under the control of organized crime...the Mafia," he said. "These people do not trust your government. No one knows what it will do from one day to the next. So, they turn to Russia. It has more stable leadership. The Kiev Mafia doesn't trust the Russians, but they like their money, and will do anything to get it, including trafficking in American agents. If Russians say they will pay, they pay. Your government...who knows."

"So Kalashnik made a deal to turn us over to the Russians for cash," Sam said. "That intel's not new."

"To certain Russians, and for a substantial amount of drugs," he replied.

"So why did you kill Burachek?" Deeks asked. "Wasn't he Kalashnik's Russian connection?"

"Burachek was a Russian patriot," he replied. "He was political, only interested in getting the intelligence you three came here to get. Kalashnik would have killed him eventually. He couldn't risk him damaging the goods, or killing one of you to get the others to talk. Fewer Americans. Less money."

"You're a CIA asset. Maybe even an agent," Sam said. "Don't look surprised, Viktor. You talk like them, you know more than should, and you showed up pretty damn quick, which means you were already in the country."

"Your mission isn't a secret, Agent Hanna," he replied. "The CIA has its own agenda and the cash to pay for any information it needs."

"Kalashnik double-crossed the CIA on this mission," Sam shot back. "They knew he wasn't a trusted asset, but they didn't share that with us. Why?"

"I don't know."

"So the Russians that want Callen and the two of us...what's their agenda?" Sam asked.

"Not sure, but they tried to cut Kalashnik out of the deal," he replied.

"The rocket attack," Deeks said, and Bidenko nodded. "That surprised him."

"Or maybe CIA pay for that too," Petruso said. "Maybe they are ones who want you dead."

"I don't think so, but whoever it is, Callen is the only one they really need," Sam said. "The Russian defector will only give the intel he has to him. The rest of us were always expendable."

"No warm and fuzzies there," Deeks said.

"So Kalashnik is only one who wants you two alive," Petruso said. "Everybody else wants to kill you."

"I don't want him dead," Marko said. "I like Deeks, even if he play with Russian in bath house."

"Hetty will only pay me if two of you live," Petruso said.

"This just gets crazier and crazier," Sam said.

"Welcome to Eastern Ukraine," Bidenko said.

...

...


	7. Chapter 7

**Ashes on the Wind**

_Chapter 7_

...

The theme music from The Dirty Dozen kept pounding in his head as they moved through the trees. It was his father's favorite movie. He'd owned a tape of it, and liked to play it in the late afternoon when he was drunk. Deeks had been forced to watch it with him after school so many times he'd lost count. His dad thought it was the perfect example of American manhood, filled with the type of manly men his son should emulate. It never bothered his father that all the characters were criminals. Those childhood memories added to the sick feeling now in the pit of his stomach. This little known war looked a lot like that old movie. Shattered trees, bombed out farmhouses, even trenches that recalled an earlier war snaked through the landscape and ended in bunkers now empty of fighters. Bidenko said regular Ukrainian troops had moved further east, but there were still Russian separatists roaming the area, as well as Ukrainian militias. He could almost feel the tension in the air. The closer they got to the Russian border the more skittish Petruso's men became.

Babky Katrya's medicine had started to wear off, and he was now limping badly, coming up the rear of their little twelve-man unit, plus one. Yaryna had been leading most of the way, but now she dropped out of line and appeared to be waiting for him to catch up. She was incredibly attractive, and he knew if Kensi had been here, she would be jealous if Yaryna showed him any attention, which she hadn't up until now.

"There is a bunker up ahead," she said. "We will rest there. I will look at your leg."

"I'm fine," he replied.

"Do not lie," she snapped. "You slow us down. It is dangerous."

She strode away without another word, making him feel crappier than he already felt. He took a deep breath and pushed himself to catch up despite the pain. Sam was up ahead talking with Bidenko as they skirted one of the empty trenches. A burned out two story farmhouse stood out starkly on the far side of the stream they'd been following. Deeks saw a reflected flash from an upper window and yelled out.

"Sniper!"

Everyone dove for the trench, but one man's arms flailed in the air as he was hit, sending him tumbling in on top of the living. Deeks groaned in pain when he landed face down in the mud on the bottom of the narrow trench. Everyone began firing at the house except for Marko, who slipped over the embankment and ran for the creek. He was going for the shooter, and Deeks hurried to cover him. It didn't make sense that a sniper would be out here alone, and he visually surveilled the area around the house. If there were others, Marko would be walking into trouble, so Deeks crawled up over the edge of the earthworks and followed him.

He kept low as he waded across the shallow stream, his adrenaline surging with each step. Willows choked the far side, so Deeks had no visual on Marco. The sharp crack of a pistol off to his left sent him crashing through the thick growth. He paused before breaking out into the open, peering through the branches, searching for any sign of the man. An orchard of stunted trees spread out toward the house, their leaves limply clinging to life. In the middle was a pile of pruned limbs and dead trees, and Marco was huddled behind it. A dead man lay face down to his left. Deeks scanned the area. A long, wooden shed backed up against the hill behind the house, but it was steeped in shadow and he couldn't tell if there was anyone inside. Marco was suddenly up, crouching low as he moved toward the yawning hole that had been blasted into the side of the house. When Deeks saw movement in the shadows of the shed, he locked onto the target and fired. A man fell forward into the light, and return fire answered immediately, spraying the area and shattering the trunks of several of the small trees. He hit the ground as Marko disappeared inside. The willows gave him no protection so he didn't fire, instead began crawling toward the house. Whoever was firing at him had no clear idea of his position, so he moved cautiously until finally coming upon a small tractor. It had been damaged by shrapnel and was peppered with bullet holes, but it offered the best cover he was going to find. He crawled slowly out of the willows and took up position behind one of its large back tires.

He risked a quick look and saw three men in tactical gear come out of the shed, their weapons up. The leader signaled for the one closest to the house to follow Marco. Deeks waited until the other two started walking across the orchard, looking for him among the willows. He stretched out on his stomach and pulled his pistol, waiting for the man to reach the opening in the side of the house. He took him out with two shots, and then scooted back against the tire, expecting the others to open fire on him. They didn't, just shouted loudly in Russian.

"Sonofabitch," he said, realizing they were calling out to the sniper.

If he made a run for the house, the two men would have a clear shot at him. If he didn't make a run for it, and Marko hadn't gotten the sniper, then he would be a dead man. He secured his pistol, and pulled his rifle around, scanning the row of broken windows above him. The air was suddenly filled with the crackle of multiple rounds splitting the air and slamming into the tractor as the two men advanced on him from behind. If he returned fire, his back would be exposed to the sniper. It was a no win situation. He had no way of knowing whether Marko was alive or dead, but he had to trust that he was still alive and would do what he set out to do. Kill the sniper.

"I love you, Kens," he whispered reverently, and turned to fire back at the advancing shooters coming up behind him.

One man went down, but the other one sprayed the tractor with bullets that shredded the rubber tire he was hiding behind. Deeks hit the ground, scrambling toward the front of the tractor, firing back beneath it, and taking the shooter out at the knees. The man screamed and writhed on the ground, pleading in Russian. Deeks rolled over and backed up against the front tire, looking up at the burned out farmhouse. A figure stood in one of the open windows, his high-powered sniper rifle pointed right at him. The man's body suddenly arched outward, blood exploding out of his chest as he tumbled from the window and fell silently to the ground. Marco appeared a second later, giving him a thumbs up before disappearing back inside. Deeks lay flat on his back in the dirt and closed his eyes. The only sound was the whimpering of the wounded Russian.

"We save each other this time, yes?" Marko said as he walked out to offer him a hand up.

"I think I'll just lie here for a minute," Deeks said. "Catch my breath."

"Our men are coming now," he said and sat down beside him in the dirt. "You are good soldier, Deeks."

"Thanks, brother. You didn't do so bad yourself."

"We are even now," Marko said.

"Seriously? You're math's a little weak there, buddy," Deeks said, his eyes closed as he waited for his heart to slow.

"Sniper worth more than all these dead bastards," he replied.

"My wife is a sniper," he said. "So yeah...you're right. Kensi's worth way more than her weight in bad guys."

"I save you for wife," he said.

"Yeah, you did," Deeks said, feeling chilled by the thought of how close he'd come to never seeing her again. "And I saved you for yours."

When he heard nothing in reply, Deeks opened his eyes. Marko had his head down.

"Marko? You okay?"

"No," he whispered. "You are lucky man, Deeks. You have wife. Me? My wife is dead. Killed by rocket five years ago. She went to buy potatoes in marketplace...with my son. He was four."

Deeks was stunned and sat up beside the man. "I'm so sorry, brother."

"I was in army, but they do nothing about this," he said, his voice deep with anger. "So I find Petruso. Offer him money to find men who kill my Lena and Yosy. He would not take it."

"Why not?"

"He said he did not need money. Petruso only want information."

"What kind of information?"

"On convoy."

"Is that the one he blew up?"

"Just one truck," he replied, and smiled. "It was full of Russian separatists we take to prison."

"Sonofabitch."

"Not everybody die," he said. "He get information from one of them about men who kill my family. I stay with him after that."

"What about your daughter? The one who loves the Cookie Monster?"

"Anya lives in Kiev with my mama," he said. "She is six."

Deeks squeezed his shoulder, and the man nodded and got up, pulling him to his feet. Petruso and his men emerged from the willows, weaving through the orchard, checking the dead. The wounded man was briefly questioned and then shot. It shocked Deeks. Even though the man had tried to kill him, shooting a wounded man was cold blooded. The expression on Sam's face showed his distaste as he moved toward him.

"You good?" He asked.

"Not really," Deeks replied, saddened by what he'd just seen and exhausted by the firefight.

Petruso spoke softly with Marko, and then looked over at him with renewed interest. "These men are Russian separatists."

"The sniper wasn't," Bidenko said. "He's Russian military."

"You think they were waiting for us?" Sam asked.

"Maybe," he replied.

"Many Russian snipers on this side of border," Yaryna said. "Government does not believe us, but we know it is true."

"We stay here tonight," Petruso said. "If more men come it give us good cover."

"It didn't help these guys much," Sam said.

"They were stupid," he replied. "Did not have Marko and Deeks."

Deeks wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not, but he was too tired to give a shit. Yaryna watched him carefully as he limped past her into the opening in the old farmhouse. Her expression gave nothing away. He didn't know her story, but it was clear she was a battle-hardened woman who had been in this war for a very long time. She was a survivor, like Ivanna, the woman who had stitched him up and hid him from the militia. These people were strong and determined, and his admiration for their resilience was growing by the day. This was their country and they were fighting to keep it.

The interior of the farmhouse was steeped in darkness, the main room charred black by fire from an exploded rocket. The main stairs had collapsed, but Marko motioned for them to follow him down a long hall that led to a set of back stairs that were still intact. The passageway up was narrow, its wallpaper streaked with rainwater from an opening in the roof, but it showed no signs of fire. The upstairs looked as if the occupants had just left, except for a coating of gray dust. There was a large sitting room that overlooked the stream, and four bedrooms whose beds now sagged under the weight of exhausted men. Petruso was setting up a command post in the sitting room, speaking with Marko and Sam as they scanned the landscape beyond with binoculars.

"Come," Yaryna said, taking his arm and pulling him down the hall.

He was too tired to argue, but he couldn't help but tease her when she led him into one of the bedrooms.

"Didn't anybody tell you that I'm married?" He grinned cockily at her, hoping to break through her reserve.

"In war that does not always matter," she said, shoving him down on the bed, and surprising the hell out of him by caressing his cheek.

"But...you...and Petruso...I thought," he sputtered in confusion.

"Shut up, idiot," she said. "Take off your pants."

"Okay. This isn't happening," he said and stood up. "Listen...you are...you're very attractive, but I'm really not interested in..."

"In what? Letting me look at wound in your leg?" She asked, smiling lightly.

"Yeah, no...that...that would be good," he mumbled.

"You are sexy man," she said, stepping closer. "Wife is not here."

"Petruso is."

"You are afraid of him?"

"No," he replied, as she put her hand on his chest. "Maybe."

"You are good fighter," she said, running her hand up into his hair. "Maybe you are good lover too...Yes?"

"Yes...but not...I can't do this with you, Yaryna," he said.

"You are funny. Not like other men," she said, kissing him before stepping away. "They want me. But not you. You love wife too much."

"Yeah, I do. She's my world."

"Too bad for me," she replied, and began unbuttoning his shirt.

"What...what are you doing?" He asked, trying to make her stop.

"There is blood on shirt," she said. "Maybe you were hit. I will check."

"They're just scratches," he said. "Really. I'm fine."

"Lay down, scared boy. I will not hurt you," she laughed. "I will fix leg. It is bleeding."

He sat down hard on the bed, dust puffing out around him. Her play had exhausted him even more, but he didn't resist when she lifted his legs to help him lie down. He closed his eyes as she pulled off his boots and socks. Her hands were warm on his calf, but it was Kensi's face that came to mind. Yaryna worked quickly, and surprisingly professionally. Once she had put in a couple of stitches and wrapped the wound in a fresh bandage, he opened his eyes, wanting to thank her.

"How you feeling?" Sam asked, standing behind Yaryna as she finished up.

"I'm good," he replied, very happy to see him.

"He is liar," Yaryna said with a smile.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, looking concerned.

"He loves wife too much," she said as she gathered up her supplies. "That is not good for me."

She slung her knapsack of medical supplies over her shoulder and walked out before she could see the broad smile on Sam's face.

"You look like shit and that woman still makes a play for you? Callen's gonna love this story."

"Kensi won't," he said.

"I won't tell," Sam teased. "For a price."

"And what's that?"

"To be determined," he grinned as he leaned his rifle against the wall.

"Awesome."

"You did good out there today, Deeks," Sam said. "Petruso and Bidenko were impressed."

"Wow! Now I feel all warm and gooey inside."

"They were afraid you wouldn't be able to keep up," Sam said.

"Did you tell them I'm a jungle cat?" Deeks asked with a slow smile.

"I don't even want to know what that means, Deeks," Sam said, shaking his head, but smiling. "Lets just say you eased their concerns."

"And yours?"

"I don't doubt your abilities anymore. You know that," Sam replied. "But you're dealing with some physical trauma, and that's something I do worry about."

"A couple of hours rest and I'll be ready to go," Deeks assured him. "We need to get to Callen, and I promise you, mom...I won't be a liability."

"Then you better get some rest...kid," he replied with a smirk. "Marko's working on dinner. They found chickens out back, and a small garden. Everything looked dead to me, but he has a guy digging for potatoes."

"His wife was killed shopping for potatoes," Deeks replied softly. "I had no idea how brutal this war has been on these people."

"If we can get to that defector, his intel should give them a fighting chance," Sam said. "It may even stop the attack all together if used properly."

"They sure as hell deserve a break."

"Bidenko's been on the phone with somebody," Sam said as he walked over to look out the window. "The conversation was in Russian."

"Do you trust him?" Deeks asked.

Sam pulled the sat phone from his pocket and held it up. "Let's call Hetty and find out."

"Copy that," Deeks said as Sam walked over to quietly shut the door.

With the ten-hour time difference, it was three o'clock in the morning in California, but Hetty picked up on the first ring. She didn't even sound sleepy, which made Deeks wonder if she'd even gone to bed or was just an early riser like Callen.

"Hetty, it's Sam. Deeks is with me."

"Give me a sit rep, gentlemen," she replied. "And don't leave anything out. Has Kirkin's friend, Viktor Bidenko made contact?"

"Oh, yeah. We've met him," Sam said.

"You called Kirkin for help, Hetty? Really?" Deeks asked.

"He has your best interests at heart, Mr. Deeks. Why wouldn't I use him?" she replied. "He wasn't just offering some low-level criminal to assist you. Bidenko is CIA."

"That wasn't hard to figure," Sam said.

"He's there to help, gentlemen," she replied. "He was in country, and I wouldn't have agreed to use him if he wasn't one of the good guys."

"Yeah? Well he shot a Russian agent point blank in the head," Deeks said. "No warning. Just shot him dead."

"Did he give a reason?"

"No, Hetty. Not a good one, anyway," Deeks replied. "We could have traded Burachek for Callen, but he said it wouldn't work."

"He has intimate knowledge of the politics and the players, gentlemen," she said. "You have to find a way to trust him."

"Well he does trust Deeks, especially after today," Sam said.

"Details, Mr. Hanna."

Sam gave her a quick rundown on the firefight and an ETA on their arrival at the estate where Callen might be. She asked about Deeks' physical status, and after getting assurances, asked if there was anything else she could do for them.

"I need intel on a woman named Yaryna Turyn," Sam said. "She seems a little too good to be true. She made a play for Deeks, and as charming as he thinks he is, I thought it was odd."

"That hurts my feelings just a little bit," Deeks said lightly.

"Have you looked in the mirror, Deeks? You're a muddy mess," Sam said. "Plus you're exhausted and hurting, which makes you vulnerable."

"To what, Sam?" he said, feeling angry and defensive. "Cheating on my wife and giving up state secrets in the process? That's pretty damn insulting after what Burachek put me through."

Sam stared at him for a long moment, his expression full of regret. He finally reached over and squeezed his shoulder.

"You're right," Sam said. "I know you'd never do either one of those things. I'm sorry."

"Why can't you just admit that women find me irresistible, even when I've got the grunge look going?" Deeks grinned cockily.

"My, my, Mr. Deeks. Still a cheeky bastard, I see," Hetty said.

"Full of himself, is what he is," Sam added.

"Let's stay on point, shall we gentlemen?" Hetty said.

"Tell me she did not just say that," Deeks said, raising his eyebrows as Sam tried to stifle a laugh.

"Touché, Mr. Deeks," she said.

"Oh...we're gonna go there, are we?" Deeks said, grinning widely now. "You're making this much too easy, Hetty."

"That's my job sometimes," she replied, and Deeks realized she knew exactly what she was doing...easing the tension between him and Sam.

"Now if we're done with the silliness, I have a question for Sam," she said. "Do you think this woman is a Russian asset?"

"Not sure, but in this situation I'd rather not have to worry about it," he replied.

"I'll put Nell on it."

"Hetty? How's Kensi?" Deeks asked.

"She's working on your exfil, Mr. Deeks," she replied. "And missing you, of course. I'll give her your love, and keep the lurid seduction you survived just between us. Okay, Mr. Deeks?"

"Awesome," Deeks said.

"Take care for yourselves and call me in a couple of hours," she said, and ended the call.

"I think you're wrong about Yaryna, Sam," Deeks said.

"Maybe, but we don't really know anything about any of these people. We need all the intel on them we can get. So, just stay sharp, okay?"

"She made me miss Kensi even more than I already do," Deeks said as he sat down on the side of the bed.

"I miss Callen having my back...and bugging the hell out of me for no reason," Sam said as he settled into a chair by the window.

"You think we'll all make it home?"

"Yeah, Deeks. I do. Now shut up and get some rest before dinner."

"Callen's tough, Sam."

"I know he is...but..."

"He's been a survivor for a long time," Deeks said.

"But he's alone now."

"He grew up alone," Deeks said. "He's a lone wolf. You told me that."

"But he's not invincible," Sam said as he stared out at the darkening sky. "They've had him for three days, Deeks."

"Day four we get him back."

"Yeah. One way or the other."

...

Deeks had no idea how long he'd slept, but the smell of roasting chicken woke him. The room was dark and Sam was gone, but he was not alone, and reached for the pistol he had placed by his side. He sat up slowly. Someone was sitting in the chair by the window, the tip of a cigarette suddenly flaring to life.

"If you had taken Yaryna into your bed I would have killed you," Petruso said.

"Good to know," Deeks replied. "Just to clarify...it wasn't my idea."

"She told me that," he said softly. "She told me you did not want her."

"So...no secrets between you two then?"

"Yaryna loves me," he replied. "But she love sex, too. You would mean nothing to her."

"Okay."

"She believes she will die soon," he continued. "So she is hungry for many things...before that happens."

"That must be tough to deal with," Deeks replied.

"She always comes back to me," he said. "When she does not come back I will know she is dead, or I will find man she choose over me and kill him."

"I'm sorry you have to live like that," Deeks said.

"I love her. I have no choice."

"That I understand," Deeks said, remembering his own relationship troubles. "You have nothing to fear from me, Petruso. The only woman I'm interested in is the one I'm married to. I love her. Kensi's everything to me."

"Remember what you say. Yaryna will come to you again," Petruso said as he stood up and turned to look at him. "And remember what I told you."

He tossed the cigarette out the window and walked out of the room, leaving Deeks shaking his head.

"Sonofabitch."

He didn't need this and sure as hell didn't want it. The only light in the room came from the half moon, but it allowed him to see that Sam had left the sat phone on the table by the bed. He picked it up and lay back down, punching in Kensi's number, needing to hear her voice, needing to tell her the truth. No more secrets. It was a pledge they'd made to one another, and he needed to honor it.

"Kens? It's me."

"Deeks? It's almost four in the morning, baby," he murmured sleepily. "Wait. Are you okay? Did something happen?"

"Yeah, something did, but not what you're thinking," he replied. "I'm good. Just needed to hear your voice."

"Why? I mean I'm glad you do, but something's wrong. I can hear it in your voice."

"Have you talked to Hetty?"

"No. It's four a.m., Deeks. Why?"

"Sam and I talked to her about an hour ago. She didn't even sound sleepy...at all. Don't you think that's weird?" Deeks rambled. "Do you think she could be a nightwalker? You know...like in that Japanese TV series? A vampire detective by day and a demon hunter by night?"

"Are you okay, baby? Cause you are really sounding crazy right now."

"A woman tried to seduce me this afternoon," he confessed. "And her boyfriend just threatened to kill me...so I thought we should talk about it."

"Do you have a fever or something?" Kensi asked. "You're in the middle of a war zone and the idea that a woman is hitting on you just doesn't make sense, Deeks."

"She thinks she's gonna die."

"And having sex with you will prevent that?"

"Yeah...No. Guess it does sound kinda crazy," he said, feeling foolish. "But I want you to know that nothing happened, and that nothing will."

"Is she pretty?"

"Yes she is...but not as beautiful as you, Kensilina," he hurried to say.

"Right. And you weren't the least bit interested?" Kensi asked. "Even a tiny bit?"

"No, Kens. I wasn't," he said quietly. "After getting warned off by Petruso, it made me kind of sad. These people live day to day, not knowing if today is the day some Russian rocket blows their house up, or a sniper they never see takes them out. I felt sorry for her, you know? For both of them. Yaryna and Petruso love each other, but can't see a future where they live a normal life."

"Sounds familiar," she replied.

"Not even close, Kens," he said. "Russians aren't on our doorstep day and night, threatening to take over our country and kill everyone we hold dear."

"That's why you're there, baby," Kensi reminded him. "To get the intel that will give them a fighting chance for a future."

"I know. I just hope we can pull it off."

"I believe in you, Deeks," she said. "And I love you. So tell that woman to back off, or I'll fly over there and kick her ass."

"Copy that, partner," Deeks said, smiling in the dark. "Thanks, wifey. Love you."

"Love you too, baby."

...

...


	8. Chapter 8

**Ashes on the Wind**

_Chapter 8_

...

They left the farmhouse before dawn. Deeks walked behind Sam as he finished the hard-boiled egg Marko had handed him on the way out, brushing at the flecks of eggshell that littered the front of his parka. He felt the weight of the cold boiled potatoes he carried in either pocket, marveling at the man's ability to make not only a passable dinner, but provide a light breakfast and something for the road. He teased him about becoming a chef once the war was over, the comment launching the man into a story about his childhood. Petruso shushed him before Deeks could hear all of it, but Marko winked at him and handed him a roasted chicken drumstick he fished out of one of his pockets. The man had cooked everything in the old fireplace, blackened by fire, but still with a working flue. The meal had calmed everyone's nerves, but Sam remained on edge throughout dinner, watching Yaryna especially. She had not even glanced Deeks' way all evening, and continued to ignore him now as they made their way along the stream.

A light mist drifted over the water, stirred only slightly by their passing. Petruso sent men to scout ahead and to watch their rear and flanks. He didn't intend to be caught unawares again. Bidenko was in the lead now, and when they came to a fork in the stream they headed north, following the smaller feeder creek. The land became steeper, and Deeks welcomed the first crack of daylight that spilled silver light across the winding track they were on. Massive cloud formations were boiling up from the north, the sky before them dark, threatening to blot out whatever light they now had. He wrapped another length of the yellow scarf around his neck as a cold wind rustled the leaves of the thick woodland on either side. Deeks had no idea where they were anymore. They had left the Oskil River far behind, but whether it was to the west of them or to the south or somewhere in front of them, he had no idea. When the lead scout appeared out of the undergrowth, Petruso held up a fist and everyone crouched down low. Petruso talked with the man and then signaled for them all to get off the trail and head into the woods. Once deep inside the tree line, he motioned for quiet and knelt down behind the gray truck of a black alder tree.

"Patrol," he whispered.

It was a little over ten minutes before they saw anyone, but they weren't trying to be quiet and they could hear them talking long before they appeared. They were a ragtag group of eight militiamen, and carried Russian semi-automatic rifles of all different types. They certainly weren't under military command, and Deeks wondered just who had sent them out on patrol. They passed by quickly, and everyone let out their breath, no one wanting another firefight.

"That was close," Bidenko whispered when they could no longer hear the men talking. "There will be more the closer we get."

"Maybe now's a good time for you to tell us about this place you think they're holding Callen," Sam said. "And just who we'll be up against when we get there."

"Not here," Bidenko said. "We are exposed. There is a bombed out village about a half hour from here. I will answer your questions there, and we can make plans."

"Storm is coming," Petruso said. "We must go. I do not like to get wet."

"Let us rest for a minute, Petruso," Yaryna said, running her hand up his arm. "Deeks does not look good. He may have a fever."

"I'm fine," Deeks insisted, only to draw a stern look from Sam.

"You are a stubborn man," Yaryna said, laughing lightly. "And a liar."

Her concern surprised him, and Petruso glared at him as he slid down with his back against a tree. Yaryna knelt down beside him and felt his forehead, shaking her head.

"He okay?" Sam asked.

"I have something that will take his fever down," she replied, pulling her backpack around and rummaging through a side pocket. "It does not taste good, but it will help you."

Deeks didn't think he needed it, but he drank down the contents of the small bottle she handed him, not wanting to be scolded by Sam or hold them up any longer. The liquid had a bitter taste and he made a face.

"Eeeww...God. It tastes like pee."

"And just how do you know what pee tastes like, Deeks?" Sam asked.

"Eat potato," Marko said, laughing along with the rest of them.

"Let's move, brother," Sam said, smirking at him as he pulled him to his feet.

Deeks pulled out one of the potatoes and had eaten half of it before the taste of the medicine faded. Petruso looked violent, his eyes dark and dangerous, but he quickly turned away and motioned for them all to follow. Yaryna shrugged and smiled at him as she shouldered her backpack and tagged after Petruso.

They stayed off the trail, moving through the trees at a fast pace. Sam was up ahead talking with Bidenko, but Deeks struggled to keep up, falling further and further behind, his wounded leg causing him to stumble on the uneven ground. As thunder thudded in the distance under a darkening sky, it became harder to breathe, and he felt anxious and weak. The thick forest of oaks and stands of alder suddenly seemed claustrophobic and ominous. Maybe Yaryna was right. Maybe he did have a fever. The thought of dealing with an infection at this stage in the operation, pissed him off. Marko looked back for him, and smirked when he tripped over an exposed root and stumbled to one knee. He reached up to steady himself on the truck of the oak, taking a moment to catch his breath as Marko trotted up.

"Come. You are too far behind," Marko said as he held out his hand.

Back on his feet, he followed Marko along a clearer path through the trees. "Thanks."

"Brother helps brother," Marko replied.

"Do you have real brothers?" He asked.

"No brothers," he said. "Just sisters. They make me fat with their cooking."

"Is that who taught you how to cook?"

"That was mama," Marko said. "She still think I am skinny. Say I will not find new wife if I am skinny. Crazy, yes?"

"Mamas know best."

"Your mama good cook?" He asked, but whispering this time as he slowed down and turned to look behind them.

"What is it?"

He pointed at his ear, and Deeks focused on listening. The birds were silent, and Marko pulled him down behind a moss covered rock. The crack of a broken limb echoed dully through the dense covering and Deeks pulled his pistol, alert to any movement. They were in deep shadow, and a soft rain had begun to fall, making it even more difficult to see very far. Marko headed off to his left, moving slowly forward from tree to tree. The sharp crack of a rifle shattered the silence, and he turned when Marko grunted and fell. Deeks was up and running, bringing his Russian AR-12 into position and firing a couple of bursts as he hurried to reach him.

"Marko." He crouched beside him and felt for a pulse, relieved when one beat beneath his fingers.

Someone came up behind him fast, and he was suddenly yanked off his feet, a chokehold cutting off his air. Another man dressed in black appeared from behind a wide oak and pistol-whipped him to the ground. Stunned and choking, he was stripped of his weapons and quickly gagged, his hands roughly tied behind his back. They sounded Russian to him, and were probably military. As they dragged him deeper into the forest, he intently listened for the others, hoping they would get to Marko in time. He felt a bond with the man, and if he died it would make him infinitely sad.

A loud shout behind them let him know the others had heard and were coming. So did the men who held him, and they quickened their pace. When they got to the edge of the woods, he fought to slow them down, slamming into the man on his right, and driving him into a tree. The other Russian pulled him around and hit him, knocking him off his feet.

"You move, you die," he said, an automatic pistol pointed down at his face.

The man he'd run head first into a tree came for him without a word, kicking him once in the head and leaving him groggy and compliant. He was dragged through the rushing creek and up the course embankment to another trail where the militiamen from the patrol they'd passed earlier stood waiting. He didn't understand any of the conversation, but when the militia started prepping their weapons and headed down to the creek, Deeks knew they would be waiting to kill anyone coming out of the trees. The two Russians had left him lying face down in the mud as they directed the men, and he struggled to scrape the gag from his mouth. The rain was growing heavy as he worked at it, afraid he wouldn't be able to warn Sam and Petruso in time. The soft mud helped him slip out of the gag, and he screamed as loud as he could.

"Ambush!"

Retribution came quickly from the butt of a rifle and he wasn't aware if his warning had even been heard as they hauled him up into the heavy woodland above the trail. He awakened to shouts and the sound of a distant firefight. The gag had been tightened, and he fought to regain his feet, but was too weak to stand. He had a screaming headache and nausea made him wretch out the potato he'd eaten. They moved quickly uphill on rough ground, and he lost track of time and any idea of where he was, fading in and out of consciousness. But what scared him the most was he no longer heard the sound of gunfire. When they finally stopped, he raised his head.

A rustic shed tucked deep in the trees sat beside a barely visible cottage, its plaster dirty and pocked with bullet holes. Dark blue shutters were closed over the two front windows and latched with heavy iron bars. The Russians let him drop, and the tall one walked to the door of the shed. The rusted blade of a circular saw decorated the front, and long saw blades hung on either side. Once the Russian got the door opened, the sweet smell of sawn wood wafted out. He was dragged inside and shoved against the sturdy leg of a woodworking table piled with tools of the trade.

"I will shoot you if you fight us," the tall one threatened.

The burlier man pushed him over on his side and cut him loose. He stripped him of his jacket and the yellow scarf, wrapping it around his own neck before taking his shoes and socks. Deeks was tempted to kick him but the tall Russian nudged him with his boot and shook his head, intuitively knowing what he was thinking.

"Sergei has a temper, American," he said easily. "Leave the gag, or I will have him choke you out again."

He tried to say "fuck you", but with the gag tied so tightly it came out garbled. Sergei found the remaining potato and tossed it to the tall man, and smiled when he discovered the chicken drumstick. He ate it quickly, sucking the fat from his fingers, while the other one swallowed the last of the potato. For some reason they didn't seem to think he was a danger to them, because they didn't tie him up again.

Rain hammered the roof, and Sergei moved to close the door. The tall man issued what sounded like an order, and Sergei suddenly became angry. They seemed to forget about him as they argued, and Deeks searched the sawdust covered floor for any tool he could use as a weapon. A wide bladed chisel was partially hidden under a mound of moldy sawdust and Deeks reached for it. He knew he couldn't take them both, but he might be able to disable one of them, or maybe even kill one of the bastards. From the sudden silence and the look on his face, Sergei had lost the argument, and turned and grabbed a long strip of leather from the workbench. When he knelt down to re-tie him, Deeks rammed the chisel deep into the man's abdomen. Sergei screamed and hot blood poured out over Deeks' hand.

"Anton?" Sergei cried out as he collapsed onto his side, his hands frantically grasping at the terrible wound in his belly.

Anton fired into the dirt floor between them, then leveled the weapon directly at Deeks' face.

"Drop that. Now! Or I will forget my promise not to damage your fucking dick."

His comment was odd, but he got the message, dropping the chisel and scooting away from the blood now pooling under Sergei. Anton ignored the loud pleas of his comrade, and snatched up the leather bindings.

"Face down, you fuck," Anton growled, shoving him face down. "Hands."

Deeks did as he was told, and Anton cinched his wrists tightly together before pulling him up and leaning him back against the thick leg of the workbench. After securing his arms, he wrapped the remaining binding around his neck and yanked it tight. Only then did the man see to Sergei, but Deeks could tell the man was beyond help, especially way out here.

"I will make you pay for this," Anton said, and then calmly took Sergei's arm and dragged him out into the rain.

Deeks dropped his head as his adrenaline faded. He had no hope anyone would find him here, and finally let his mind drift off into memories of Kensi. A deep sadness settled over him. He was separated from her world now, having sacrificed their future by coming to try and guarantee the Ukrainians would have one. Why did he care so much? Why would they put themselves in this kind of danger almost every day? The same question they both had asked each other remained. How much longer were they going to do this? Knowing what lay ahead of him, he was pretty sure that question was no longer relevant. Kensi was a strong person. She would survive his loss, but the thought of the pain it would cause her brought tears to his eyes.

Voices from outside snapped him back to reality, and he raised his head as the door swung wide. The figure was a familiar one, and he was suddenly angry with himself.

"Hello, Deeks," Yaryna said sweetly as she walked in out of the rain. "How is your fever?"

"He is gagged, Yaryna," Anton said, sounding irritated with her, as he helped her off with her backpack and coat.

"There is no need for gag," she replied, pushing him away as he tried to caress her cheek. "I want to know how he feels about seeing me here...with you."

"Why do you care what he feels? He is just a means to an end."

Yaryna ignored him and knelt beside Deeks. She smiled as she straddled him, touching each cut on his face, pouting over some, but looking pleased as she slowly wiped a streak of blood from the side of his face. She ran her thumb across his bottom lip as she toyed with the gag. He tried to turn his head away, but the binding around his neck made it impossible. She stroked his cheek as she stared at him, and he thought he saw a touch of madness in her eyes.

"Did you like my drugs, scared boy?" She whispered, as her lips hovered close to his. "Oh...sorry. I forgot you cannot speak. But you will soon. Soon you will tell me everything you know."

She reached behind his head and untied the gag, kissing him the second she pulled it from his mouth. Anton said something in Russian, but she waved him off and kissed him again.

"I like the taste of your blood," she said.

"Wow. A vampire and a witch too," Deeks breathed out.

"My sweet, scared boy," she said, her eyes dancing and dark. "Men are easy to bewitch."

"Too bad you have to use drugs to do it," Deeks shot back.

Her eyes flashed and narrowed as she grabbed his jaw and pushed his head back. She spoke something in Ukrainian, her voice strained and angry, and Anton cursed.

"You know I do not speak your bastardized language," Anton snapped. "I told you to learn Russian."

"Bring me my backpack," Yaryna said, enunciating each word slowly. "Our American friend needs to learn to be nice to me."

"What happened to Marko?" Deeks asked as he watched her pull a vial from her pack.

"I told them I would stay with him," she said, sounding unconcerned. "I lied."

"Is he alive?" Deeks asked.

"Who cares?" She said, grasping his jaw again, trying to force his mouth open.

He fought her as best he could, but when Anton joined her efforts and started choking him, he lost the battle. A foul smell filled his mouth and nostrils as they poured the contents of the vial down his throat. He coughed and tried to spit it out, but Yaryna laughed as Anton forced his mouth closed. His reaction to the drug didn't take long, and she watched him closely as it drained him of all strength and the will to resist.

"You're a real witch, aren't you?" he mumbled.

"Yes, I am, and if you do not tell me what I want to know, you will find out I am a very wicked one," she said and kissed him. "Go get the cottage ready, Anton. And make a big fire. I do not like being naked in the cold."

Anton had an odd look on his face, but he did as directed, making Deeks wonder how long they had been in a relationship.

"He came with Russian soldiers five years ago," she said as if she knew what he was thinking. "They threatened to destroy my father's house. I went to Anton to stop it."

"You seduced him," Deeks whispered.

"Of course. It was easy," she replied as she unbuttoned his shirt. "He wanted me. So I gave him what he wanted and my father's house still stands."

"I'm sorry you had to do that," his voice growing weaker with each word.

"I am not sorry," she said, running her hand down his throat to his chest.

She pushed the shirt off his shoulders and leaned in to kiss the base of his throat. She moaned softly as her mouth closed over his left nipple, sucking on it as she pinched his other one hard. She was incredibly sexy, and he tried to keep his mind on Kensi, but it wasn't easy. When she leaned back, she continued her story as if her actions were normal.

"When Anton came back he offer me money to spy on local militias. The sex was good, but the money was what I wanted. Soon I will leave this place. When you tell me your secrets, Anton will take me to Moscow. His family is very rich."

"You never loved Petruso, did you?"

"Shut up," she said, suddenly angry. "You do not know what it is like to live here...to live in rags...to spend half the day just to find decent food to eat. Petruso expects me to take care of him. Why should I do that? I am tired of it. Tired of him. He is too jealous."

"I could help you get to the states, Yaryna," Deeks offered weakly.

"You had chance, but you reject me," she said. "You should not have done that."

"Get off him,' Anton said loudly as he strode through the door. "We need to get him inside. We have work to do."

Deeks thought about fighting back when Anton cut him loose, but the drugs had sapped his strength and dulled his senses. His wrists were still tied behind his back and he struggled to walk as Anton took his arm and led him out the door. The rain had lessened, but it was cold. Yaryna kept her hand on his back as he stumbled on the two steps to the door of the cottage. Odd thoughts floated lazily through his mind as they led him inside. A fire roared in the tiny fireplace, filling the small room with the smell of pine. An old-fashioned iron bed took up half the room, it's head and footboard hung with strips of black leather.

"So. Into bondage I see. No surprise there," he said, finding it harder and harder to put one foot in front of the other.

"She will do things to you that will make you crazy," Anton said quietly. "You will see."

"Not interested, man," Deeks said, only to be rushed toward the bed and shoved down face first.

"I am not concerned with your interests, American," he growled.

Anton cut his hands free, and Deeks attempted to attack the man, but his arms and legs wouldn't cooperate. Anton laughed at him and Yaryna watched, completely enthralled as the Russian manhandled him into submission. His unsuccessful effort to resist left him gasping for breath as the room spun, making him afraid he might vomit.

"Let me take his clothes off, Anton," Yaryna asked, sounding like a little girl.

"No," he replied. "This is not a sex game. This is an interrogation."

"I will let you do things too," she said, pulling his head down to kiss him. "To me. To him. We can have fun and still get information. Please, Myshka, my love. You know it makes me wet for you."

Deeks struggled to raise himself up, but he couldn't, and felt the deep darkness that came with fear.

"She doesn't love you," he said, words his only weapon.

"She loves to fuck me, American," he replied. "Why should I not make her happy?"

Yaryna giggled and became almost businesslike, instructing Anton on what she wanted him to do, urging him to go slow so she could enjoy the show. The more he fought them, even as weak as he was, the more Yaryna seemed to become aroused. He became so exhausted he gave up, breathing heavily as she pulled his pants off. She ran her hand up his leg and caressed his ass. He heard Anton growl out something in Russian. The man actually seemed jealous and Deeks wondered if he could use that.

Yaryna's hands moved over his bare ass, and when she ran her tongue along his crease, Anton barked out something in Russian. He was angry and roughly yanked Deeks shirt off only to be scolded by Yaryna. Together, they rolled him over on his back and began tying him to the bed. Yaryna tied his wrists to the iron posts of the headboard with the strips of black leather, while Anton spread his legs and tied his ankles to each post at the foot. He was at their mercy now, naked and vulnerable. He trembled, staring at them through the fog of drugs she had dosed him with. Yaryna leaned over and licked his nipple, but Anton pulled her away, looking angry, but smug as he wrapped his arms around her from behind. He began nuzzling her neck and his hands found their way up under her black sweater. Deeks saw the triumph in her eyes, and closed his.

"No. You do not get to do that," she snapped, slapping him hard. "I want you to watch...to see what you could have had...what you rejected."

She leaned back into the man and pulled her sweater up over her head. Anton actually groaned as he caressed her bare breasts. The man was besotted with her, and she was obviously intoxicated by what he was doing to her, but also by the fact he was watching them. Their kissing became passionate, but when the Russian sat on the edge of the bed and began to suckle her breasts, Yaryna was looking straight at him.

"Does this make you hard?" She asked in a sultry voice.

"Actually, I find it rather cheesy," Deeks whispered with a cocky grin.

"What does this mean?" She demanded.

"He is making fun of you, Yaryna," Anton said.

"Make him sorry, Myshka," she purred, staring down at Deeks with brilliantly black eyes. "I want to watch him suffer."

"You want to fuck him," Anton said, his rage barely contained. "Then take him while I set up the camera. We need that intel on the defector."

"Poor Anton," she pouted. "You don't care about the defector. You miss my fucking."

She slowly unbuttoned her pants and slid them down past her hips, and Deeks could feel the Russian almost tremble with anticipation. He may have been in charge at the beginning of this relationship, but not any longer. He was practically panting as she fondled her large nipple and slid her other hand slowly down her body until it disappeared inside her panties. When she moaned with pleasure, Anton jerked. He couldn't take his eyes off her, and when she ordered him to take off his shirt, he did so eagerly, and his pants quickly followed. She kicked off her shoes and pushed her pants down, stepping out of them while her hand continually moved sensuously beneath the thin fabric of her panties. When she began to pant, Deeks could feel the heat coming off the Russian, and he was finding it difficult not to be drawn in by what she was doing to herself. She was captivating as she moved between Anton's legs, pushing him over until he was draped across Deeks' stomach, his arms above his head. Taking hold of his erection, she crawled up on Anton like a spider, and he groaned as she began to stroke him. Deeks felt her hand slide down his thigh, and she looked over at him when she felt him harden at her touch. She laughed and looked triumphant, and Deeks closed his eyes, saddened by his body's betrayal. He was starting to believe she really was a witch.

...

...


	9. Chapter 9

**Ashes on the Wind**

_Chapter 9_

**Rated M**

...

Deeks felt nothing except disgust as he watched Yaryna work. He wasn't aroused. He was angry, wondering what this whole sex show meant. He didn't want to believe she was actually a witch. That would be crazy, but she was a sad character, a desperate woman spoiled by war and difficult choices. Anton was her way out, but they both seemed trapped by their own sexual needs, and he was in the middle of it. Literally. And he hated her for it.

"You want me now," she said as she held up her hand and showed him his own cum.

He laughed. "Not even close, lady. And I use that term loosely."

Anton suddenly rose up and slid off of Deeks, grabbing her breasts in both hands and squeezing until she screamed. "Fuck me now, Yaryna, or you will never see Moscow."

She froze, her eyes almost black as the man closed his mouth over her breast. She wrapped her arms around his head, pulling him closer and holding him there. He lifted her ass and settled her down over his rigid dick. He came instantly, shuddering as she moved, her hands now around his throat. He smiled as her fingers tightened, and then she came, and he pulled her down on top of him as he fell back onto Deeks.

"Make him suffer, Anton," she demanded as she choked him. "Make him scream for me, or I will never fuck you again."

"But you want to fuck him?" He croaked.

"Why do you care who I fuck?" She asked, breaking from him and stepping back down onto the floor. "I fuck Petruso."

"And I will kill him for it," he replied, sitting up beside Deeks.

"He is not easy to kill," she warned.

"I am a Russian agent," he said. "I am trained to torture and kill."

"Show me,' she whispered. "Deeks knows who the traitor is and he is weak from my drugs. Make him scream what he knows. Make me happy, Myshka, my big Russian bear. I will fuck him while you do it. It made you hard before. Remember?"

Anton looked back at Deeks and smiled. "Tell us the name of the traitor, American, or you will scream. It makes her crazy when men scream in pain."

"She's already crazy, asshole," Deeks murmured.

"You want him, don't you Anton?" She asked in a sultry whisper. "You want Petruso too. It is why you want to kill him."

Deeks was stunned by the comment, and he saw Anton become very still. She leaned over to the Russian and kissed him, but he shoved her away.

"Get off me, witch," he growled, and Yaryna laughed.

"I do not care who you fuck, Anton," she said. "Go ahead. Do not be a scared boy like this American. Do what you want to him. The camera is recording and we will watch together when we are in your apartment in Moscow. It will make me wet for you."

"Pretty obvious who's running this little sex circus," Deeks taunted.

"Shut up!"

Anton backhanded him and the taste of blood filled his mouth. When he looked up into the man's eyes he realized he'd miscalculated just how unstable and full of rage the Russian was. That rage was unleashed, and the beating left him groggy and fighting to catch his breath. He could hear Yaryna giggle as she moved around the bed and crawled up beside him. She caressed his cheek and wiped blood from his lips, licking it from her fingers with an impish look on her face. She was definitely crazy, and definitely enjoying this. The Russian not so much, but it was if he couldn't stop himself as she encouraged him, stroking him and urging him on. Deeks had seen self-hatred before, but now it was overshadowed by a deep sense of guilt that the man couldn't hide.

"It is what you want, Myshka," she whispered. "He has beautiful body, yes?"

She shot a cunning look up at Deeks, and dipped her head, licking and sucking his nipple, her tongue hot, as the Russian caressed the other with tentative fingers. The man's face was blank as he ran his hand down the length of Deeks' body, caught up in Yaryna's fantasy and his own. Deeks struggled to come up with something to say that would deter him from what she wanted him to do.

"Don't," Deeks breathed out. "She's playing you, man. She wants to control you, and sex is how she does it. You know that."

"He does not understand you, Anton," she said with a pout. "He is scared of what you will do. He is not brave like you."

"Get off him, Yaryna," the Russian ordered, sounding resigned and somewhat sad, as if he had lost a battle he'd been fighting his whole life.

"He will take you now, scared boy. Then it will be my turn," she taunted. "Will you tell your wife this? Tell her you fucked a witch and a big Russian man fucked you?"

"Get over yourself, Yaryna," Deeks said and spit a mouthful of blood at her. "You might be able to lead Anton around by his dick, but I'm not buying your crap."

The Russian hit him low in the groin and he screamed, choking on the pain. He was gasping for breath as Anton turned and straddled his chest, staring down at him with pure venom in his eyes. The hate he saw there was dark and he recoiled at the intensity on the man's face. His left hand closed over Deeks' throat and he bent down so close Deeks could smell his rancid breath. He struggled to breathe as Anton choked him, surprising him by slowly licking his bottom lip, lingering as if trying to decide what to do. The Russian rose up over him, groaning as if in pain himself before suddenly slapping him. He bared his teeth, hitting and slapping him over and over until his mind fogged.

"I am not going to fuck you. I am going to cut your body until you tell me who the traitor is," Anton growled in his ear. "Maybe I will get the chisel you stabbed Sergei with. Maybe I will cut off your fucking cock and give it to Yaryna as a souvenir."

"Poor, Myshka," she said. "You made him angry, Deeks."

"You were right, American," Anton said. "She is a witch. She cut a cross in one man's stomach and sprinkled just a little of her yellow powder into his blood. He screamed as if on fire. Get the powder, Yaryna. I want this over."

"But I am not done with him, Myshka," she pouted. "I do not like to be rushed."

"I don't care what you want," he shouted, backhanding her off the bed onto the floor. "I am the one in charge. Not you, you stupid witch."

Anton climbed off of him, and Deeks retreated into the shadowy gray of semi-consciousness. He could hear Yaryna whimpering, speaking to herself in Ukrainian. The Russian was mumbling too, but at this point Deeks didn't care why, he just wanted a break from the craziness. He sought solace in his memories of home. He whispered Kensi's name, slowly becoming used to the idea that he would never see her again. Only his memories remained to sustain him through what he feared was coming.

He lightly touched the cuts on his lips with his tongue, wincing at the slice of pain each one brought. He didn't think his ribs were broken, but it was still painful to breathe. When he tried to get in a more comfortable position, the sharp pain in his groin caused him to blow out his breath, the agony radiating up and down his body. How much more pain could he endure without breaking? His mind flashed back to Siderov. Could he hold out against that kind of pain again? Was he strong enough? Whether he broke or not, his life with Kensi would end here. There would be no tiny ninja assassin with shiny black hair like her mother. No goofy little blond boy to surf with. He had come to help this country, and he was determined not to fail. He would do his job and complete his mission. It was all that was left.

He finally opened his swollen eyes. The Russian was masturbating, his expression disturbing. A couple of taunts came to mind, but he kept his mouth shut, knowing how on edge the man was. Pushing him any further was dangerous. He had learned that early on from his drunken father. This man was drunk on sex and self-loathing, unwilling to acknowledge who he really was. Yaryna knew and used it to torture the Russian, manipulating him to do what she wanted. Deeks looked for her. She was standing naked in front of the fireplace, rummaging through her backpack. He shivered, his heart racing as he remembered what the Russian had said about her yellow powder. When she turned to walk back across the room, her face was a mask of dark anger.

"Is this what you want, Anton?" She asked, holding up a small paper packet. "Or do you want to keep fucking yourself."

His move toward her was explosive, his hands around her throat in the blink of an eye. The shock of the attack was brutally vivid on her face, her white skin turning crimson as his hands tightened. Fear flashed in her eyes, but quickly morphed into rage as she fought for her life. Deeks knew she would be dead within seconds, but she surprised him. Letting out a feral scream, she let go of Anton's wrists and tore open the packet, spewing yellow powder into his eyes. His screams were horrific, but he didn't release his grip on her. He roared in agony, and took her to the floor, straddling her body as it shook violently in the last throes of life. When she lay dead, he still held on to her, even though blood was streaming from his eyes. He caressed her face, his hands lingering on her breasts as he cried and mumbled in Russian.

"I loved her," he whispered.

Deeks held his breath, fearing the Russian would come for him next. But the man didn't even look at him, if he could even see, stumbling instead for the door.

"The chisel...I need to find the chisel. Then I will kill you," he ranted. "Do you hear me, American? I will cut off your dick like I promised, and bury it with Yaryna."

The man staggered out the door, pausing uncertainly, holding his hand out in front of him as if blind, which he probably was. Deeks could hear him moaning, and ranting incoherently in Russian, and he frantically began trying to get out of his restraints, but the black leather only tightened as he fought to yank free. Panic and raw fear rose in his chest, leaving him feeling weak and completely helpless.

"Sonofabitch."

A shocking burst of gunfire sent Anton's body staggering back into the room, dark blood spattering the walls around him. Deeks gasped from the sudden surge of adrenaline, completely overcome with relief when Sam charged through the door.

"Deeks?" Sam shouted, stepping over the dead Russian.

Deeks could find no words, closing his eyes on the tears he could no longer hold back. Sam rarely swore, but he whispered a few classics as he put a warm hand on Deeks' chest.

"I got you, brother. I got you," he said gently.

"Cut me loose, Sam. Please. Get me out of here," Deeks pleaded, his words coming in great gasps.

"You're safe, brother. Just breathe, Deeks. Just breathe."

Sam squeezed his shoulder and then quickly cut his wrists free. When he cut the bindings off his ankles, Deeks rolled over on his side and vomited onto the floor. Dry heaves painfully followed. When he was done, Sam helped him sit up. Viktor Bidenko, the CIA operative stood in the doorway and then turned to say something to someone outside. Petruso shoved him aside and rushed past the dead Russian. He stopped when he saw Yaryna.

"She's dead?" He asked, looking stunned. "Why?"

Deeks didn't want to tell him, not even sure how, so he remained silent. He saw the rage in his eyes when it exploded, so his attack was unsurprising. He would have accepted it, but Sam stepped in front of him and put both hands on Petruso's chest to stop him. It didn't work.

"This is your fault," Petruso shouted. "She came for you...to help you and he killed her for it."

When he tried to get to Deeks again, Sam hit him hard, knocking him off his feet. He landed beside Yaryna and covered his blackening eye with both hands.

"You don't know what the hell you're saying," Sam said, softening his tone. "Now let Deeks alone, or me and you are gonna have some serious words."

"There's a camera," Deeks finally said, pointing to the bookshelves against the wall at the foot of the bed. "You can watch what happened if you want to...just not while I'm here."

Sam helped him on with his pants and shoes, and he gratefully accepted his shirt from Bidenko. He leaned heavily on Sam as he walked out of the cottage, pausing briefly when he passed the Russian. Just the sight of the man made him shudder. The rain had stopped and he blinked at the sunlight, trying to calculate how long he'd been here, but he couldn't focus.

"Did Marko make it?" He asked as Sam guided him slowly toward the woodworker's shed.

"Yeah, he was lucky," Sam said. "He told Bidenko that Yaryna stopped the bleeding. He said she knew where the Russians were taking you. Then she left him there."

"I think they've been here together...before...Yaryna and the Russian," Deeks said. "They knew each other a long time."

"So who was working who?" He asked.

"Anton couldn't control her anymore than Petruso could," Deeks said without energy, as Sam helped him sit down on a large oak stump just inside the shed door.

"See you managed to take out one of the Russians," Sam said. "Found him propped up against a tree down the trail. Had your yellow scarf around his neck. It's how we knew you were here. Then we heard that scream. Thought it was you."

"Go ahead...ask," Deeks said, hanging his head.

"Ask what?"

"If I gave up the defector."

"I don't have to ask. I know," Sam said, laying his hand on the back of his neck. "I know you didn't break, Deeks. We've been there together before, remember?"

"She drugged me, Sam."

"We figured she would," Bidenko said from the doorway. "Petruso has seen her do it before. Even wondered if she had drugged him once or twice."

"Anton promised to take her to Moscow," Deeks said weakly. "She said he was rich."

"He lied about that," Bidenko said. "Found his papers. He was a low level FSB operative. He was after the reward like everyone else."

"She would have made a great agent if she wasn't a complete whack job," Deeks said.

"Or a witch," Petruso said, stopping just outside. "Marko warned me, but I could not stay away from her."

"Neither could Anton," Deeks said. "It's what she lived for. Complete devotion. Complete control. By seduction or by drugs. I don't think she cared which if she got you to do what she wanted."

"She wanted you," Petruso said.

"Because I rejected her," Deeks shot back, his anger resurfacing as he recalled her taunts.

"I never met a woman like her," Petruso said.

"I wish I'd never met her at all," Deeks said, and struggled to his feet.

The room suddenly tilted and Deeks collapsed, crying out as he hit the dirt floor. He had no idea how long he lay there, but finally he could hear them talking and opened his eyes. Sam was working on him, wiping the blood from his face with a wet cloth, and checking for broken ribs. He finally took some of the water they offered, but wanted desperately just to sleep. Sam wouldn't let him, lifting him up until he was back on his feet.

"The drugs are still working their way through your system," Sam said, draping his arm across his shoulder and practically carried him outside. "You need to keep moving, brother."

Deeks began to feel every kick and every punch as they circled the area in front of the cottage. Flashbacks kept him reeling, but Sam continued to talk softly to him, and he slowly came back to himself.

"I felt sorry for her," he said, stopping to stare at the cottage. "For a little while anyway."

"So she was a Russian asset," Sam said.

"Yeah, she was."

"You think she told us the truth about where Callen is being held?"

"Maybe. But I'm pretty sure Anton knew," Deeks replied. "I don't think Callen gave up the defector, Sam, or they wouldn't have taken me."

Bidenko and Petruso were hailed from the cottage, and as they hurried up the steps Bidenko paused to translate.

"They found a laptop the camera was feeding into," he said. "I need to watch your interrogation Deeks. Do you want to join me, Sam?"

"I'll stay with my partner here," Sam replied, his body stiffening as he spoke. "I had to watch him tortured once before, and seen him hurt too many times. I'll pass."

"I think the Russian has been staying here for weeks," Bidenko said, walking down to talk with them. "He kept a detailed journal of his activities and connections. Found a satellite phone, too."

"Anything that'll help us find Callen?" Sam asked.

"Yes, but you're not going to like it," he replied.

"What the hell does that mean?" Deeks asked.

"The dead Russian, whose full name was Anton Petrovich Konev, and his friend Sergei were sent specifically to capture you two, or at least one of you," he replied. "That is because the Russians have failed to make a deal with Kalashnik to turn Callen over to them."

"That sounds like good news to me," Sam said.

"His journal notes that he advised them he was close to capturing Deeks. It also notes his instructions were to deliver Deeks to them by noon tomorrow if he wanted an agreed upon reward," Bidenko said. "If he fails to make delivery, which obviously won't happen now, then the Russians are going to send in a covert military team to take Callen by force. If they get to him first, no one will ever see him again."

"They'll move him back across the border," Sam said.

"We have to go for him tonight," Deeks said.

"Any confirming intel on where they're holding him?" Sam asked.

"The same estate above the river," he replied. "The question is can we get there in time to make a plan and execute it."

"How far is it?" Deeks asked.

"About sixteen kilometers from here over rough ground," Bidenko said. "That's almost ten miles, Deeks."

"I know how to calculate distance," Deeks snapped. "We should go now."

"You are not going," Bidenko said.

"The hell I'm not," Deeks said, flushing with anger.

"He doesn't take orders from you," Sam said. "This is our mission. The CIA screwed it up by not giving us intel about Kalashnik's ties to organized crime."

"Deeks is not operational, Agent Hanna," he replied. "Look at him. He has trouble staying on his feet without your help."

"I'm good to go when you are, Agent Bidenko," Deeks said, pushing away from Sam. "Besides, I thought you came here to protect me, and get me and Sam home. That's what Hetty and Kirkin asked you to do, isn't it? And you agreed, right? Or was that just another CIA lie?"

"My mission has changed," he replied.

"Well ours hasn't," Sam said. "We go get Callen, make contact with the Russian defector, get his intel, and then we go home. Not before and not without Deeks."

"You are making a mistake," Bidenko warned. "He will get us killed."

Deeks hit him. Not hard enough to knock him down, but hard enough to get his attention. He was tired of being beat up physically and mentally, so the punch felt pretty damn good.

"It was the CIA and Kalashnik who got people killed," Deeks reminded him. "Or have you conveniently forgotten all those dead militiamen and the two NATO guys?"

"Callen is part of our team," Sam said as Bidenko wiped blood from his lip and glared at Deeks. "And as far as I can see, you don't have a team. You need us. All of us, or this doesn't get done. And believe me, if Callen dies or disappears, you will find out a whole lot more about Hetty Lange than you will ever want to know."

"She's really fond of Callen. Even more than she is of me," Deeks said with a grin. "Now go watch that little porn flick our dead Russian made while I get cleaned up...and operational."

"Don't ever hit me again," Bidenko said, his fake charm replaced by cold hostility. "Next time I will hit back."

"Next time, I'll be armed," Deeks said.

"Enough. Both of you," Sam ordered, and Bidenko turned and walked up the steps and into the cottage.

"Thanks for backing me up, Sam."

"Hey...he's probably right about you," Sam replied. "But I'm not leaving you behind, even if I have to carry you."

"I won't hold you up. I promise."

"Don't promise something you might not be able to deliver," Sam said. "I know you're hurting. I just don't know how bad. So, why don't you tell me? Right now."

"Battered and bruised, brother," he replied, quietly assessing his pain level. "No broken ribs, but probably a mild concussion. Plus, Yaryna's drugs made me fuzzy headed and weak, but I'm feeling better by the minute...stronger and a little sharper, like a jungle cat."

"Okay, Mr. Jungle Cat," Sam smiled. "But if you need to take a break on the trail, be honest and let me know. I don't need an 'I-told-you-so' from Mr. CIA."

"Do you trust him?"

"I don't need to trust him right now," Sam replied. "I just need him to do his job and get us to Callen."

"Copy that," Deeks said, as they continued their walk. "Sam...can you do me a favor?"

"Whatever you need."

"Can you make sure that video doesn't survive today's premier showing? The thought of something like that following me around for the rest of my career..."

"That bad, huh?"

"Definitely not prime time stuff...or late night for that matter," he said. "More like late, late, late night stuff."

"Don't worry, Deeks," he said quietly. "No one will ever see it after today. Especially Kensi."

"Did you ever tell Michelle about any of...you know...the sexual stuff you had to do when you were undercover?"

"No. But she knew. She was in the game, so we were both aware of what had to be done. We left all that out of our everyday lives," he replied. "But this wasn't your choice, brother. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

"I kept telling myself that while it was happening," Deeks said. "But now that Kensi and I are married, I felt like I was cheating on her. I know that sounds crazy, but I couldn't control myself, and I hate myself for it."

"How many times do I have to remind you? You were drugged, Deeks," he said, gripping his shoulder gently. "She won't hold any of it against you."

"If...I decide to tell her..."

"Whether you do or don't, that's your choice, brother," Sam said. "She won't find out anything from me if you don't."

"Thanks, Sam."

That decision rested heavily on his mind, but it was one he had to put aside until they got to Callen. Now he had to go in and face Petruso and his men, and he worried about their reaction to what was on that video. If Petruso held it against him, it would make this upcoming operation difficult. They needed to operate as a team, and if they didn't trust him or if they ridiculed him, or thought him a weak link because of what they saw on that video, it would be dangerous for all of them, but especially for him.

...

...


	10. Chapter 10

**Ashes on the Wind**

_Chapter 10_

...

They left the Russian where he lay. No one covered him. No one gave him another thought as they stepped over him coming and going in and out. But Deeks did. He felt a connection he hadn't sought. One that had been forced on him. One that made it impossible for him to go back inside the cottage, even to clean up. He found a small sink in the shadowy back corner of the work shed, and managed to get most of the blood off his face, although a few cuts still bled. Sam wanted to go through Yaryna's backpack to see if she had a med kit so he could stitch up the worst of them, but Deeks refused. He wanted nothing that woman had touched to come near him, let alone pierce his skin. Petruso had carried her out of the cottage and buried her somewhere out in the woods. He did it alone. And that was fine with Deeks.

He still felt the dregs of the drugs in his system, and drank as much water as he could until he eventually threw up. Bidenko was watching him when it happened, his eyes flat and his expression clouded with contempt. So Deeks smiled at him, mouthing a 'fuck you' just to piss him off even more.

"Play nice with the CIA man, Deeks," Sam said and handed him a cold sausage. "Find some common ground, or this won't work. We need him."

"Copy that," he said, tossing the unwanted sausage in the dirt.

Sam stepped into his sight line with Bidenko and handed him the sat-phone. "Call home, brother."

Deeks stared at it, and then refused to take it. He couldn't talk to Kensi right now, no matter how much he wanted to. Everything was too fresh. He had no perspective on what had happened, and was unprepared for the intrusive questions she would undoubtedly ask. He knew if he heard her voice he would lose it, and right now he couldn't afford to do that, not in front of these men and especially not in front of Bidenko. He picked up the weapon Sam had brought him, sliding a bullet into the chamber and pocketing the extra mag.

"We doing this, or what?" He asked.

When Sam turned to head out they both saw Bidenko checking his backpack. When he saw Anton's laptop inside, Deeks froze. Fearing what was on it, he looked at Sam, who was already moving, yanking it out of the man's hands.

"The video of Deeks' interrogation is on this laptop, isn't it?" Sam said, and the man nodded reluctantly. "Then you're not taking it."

"That laptop contains valuable intel," Bidenko growled, reaching out to take it back.

There was a tug-a-war between them, until Sam pulled him right up to his chest. "You know what that video could do to him personally. It could be used against him, even hurt his career."

"His career is not my concern," Bidenko said.

"You're right. It's mine," Deeks said, leveling his pistol at the CIA agent's head.

Bidenko let go of the backpack and shoved Sam back. He pulled his weapon without blinking and trained it on Deeks.

"You won't shoot me, Deeks," he said. "I've done my research. With a few exceptions, you're a man of the law."

"I'm not," Petruso said as he placed the muzzle of an assault rifle against the back of Bidenko's head.

"Don't be stupid. I'm CIA," Bidenko said. "I can ruin your life."

"Not if you are dead," Petruso replied.

Bidenko swallowed hard, and Deeks could see the uncertainty in his eyes. He had no idea what Petruso would do, and Deeks suddenly realized, that he didn't either. He had jokingly called him the Ukrainian Robin Hood just a few days ago, but now he saw a hint of the ruthlessness that had helped him stay alive in the middle of a war zone full of militiamen, pro-Russian separatists, and mafia thugs. His only allegiance was to himself, his family and his men, and he had no qualms about killing if the situation called for it. The man was a bandit after all, so Bidenko's threat didn't carry the same weight as Hetty's promised payday. In that moment the CIA agent understood that, and lowered his weapon.

"Anybody up for a little target practice?" Sam asked, and threw the laptop in the dirt.

Petruso fired a burst that exploded it, and then turned to smile at Bidenko. "Better for you I shoot laptop than I shoot you."

"Now, Bidenko. Hand me the thumb drive," Sam said, holding out his hand. "And don't make me search you."

"You will both regret this," Bidenko said as he handed over the drive.

"Like I told you. This is our mission," Sam replied. "Hetty will decide what intel gets shared with the CIA."

Bidenko's expression was lethal as he secured his weapon, glaring at Petruso before turning and heading down the trail. Deeks knew he had just made an enemy, one who was crucial to finding Callen. As much as he wanted to follow Sam's advice, finding common ground now would be a long shot.

"I would not trust that man," Petruso said.

"I'll watch your back if you watch mine," Deeks said.

"All my men will watch. We do not get paid if you die."

Petruso smiled broadly and hiked down the trail, motioning for them to follow. His men spread out around them, and two lagged behind to cover their six as they headed after Petruso.

"Not very warm and friendly, but nice to know he's looking out for us," Sam said, throwing an arm around Deeks' shoulder as they walked.

"Lets just hope the mafia hasn't offered him more money than Hetty," Deeks said.

"That's kind of a negative attitude for you," Sam said.

"Right now, I have no illusions about his motives for keeping us safe," Deeks said. "We're just a payday to him, not our buddy."

"So, you're going full out cynical on me," Sam replied, smirking at him. "You sound a little like Callen when he's pissed off about something or somebody."

"After the day I've had, I got a right to be pissed off and cynical," Deeks said. "So for now...you're the only one I trust."

"Copy that, brother."

Daylight was fading even before flat gray clouds settled over them. Deeks was limping heavily by the time the trail dipped down into a woodland, whose canopy moved slowly in the gusting wind. A soft rain began falling and Deeks shivered, wishing he had the yellow scarf that was still wrapped around the neck of the man he'd killed. The track they were on was a new one that skirted small fallow fields and sad abandoned houses. Deeks was grateful when they stopped, and he eased himself down to the ground with his back against a tree. Sam went up ahead to see what the holdup was, even though they could hear Petruso and Bidenko arguing. The two rear guards lit up cigarettes and began talking, giving Deeks time to assess them. Both had dark scruffy beards and wore mismatched clothing, but their boots were new, and probably stolen. The one wearing a black watch cap stared back at him.

"You are lucky man," he said in a heavy accent. "Witch and ugly Russian bastard not kill you."

"You speak English," he commented unnecessarily.

"Little," he replied. "Pavlo no."

"What's your name?"

"Bogdan."

"Do you know what they're arguing about up there?"

He looked confused, so Deeks simplified the question.

"Why is Petruso so angry?"

Understanding, the man poked Pavlo with his elbow and translated Deeks' question. Both men grew even more serious than they already were.

"Petruso want to go to Marko," he said earnestly. "Bidenko...not want to."

"Where is Marko? Is he okay?" Deeks asked.

"Marko strong," he said with a shrug. "Very mad he shot."

"Me too," Deeks said. "Marko's a good man."

Bogdan stared down at him and threw away his cigarette. He pulled his black watch cap off and tossed it to Deeks.

"Marko like you," he said and walked away.

Pavlo watched him go, then unwrapped his dark blue scarf and handed it to Deeks before turning back to guard the rear. Their kindness was unexpected. He wasn't sure if the two men had watched the video, but if they had they didn't hold it against him. He had expected ridicule, or laughter, but instead he now had a warm scarf and watch cap and the trust of two of Petruso's men.

"Don't you look cozy," Sam said as he strode up and offered him a hand up.

"Now all I need is a warm fire, my hot wife, and a cold beer," Deeks said, smiling as he pulled the warm knit cap down over his ears and tightened the scarf around his throat. "So who won the argument?"

"The man with the most guns," Sam said. "Marko's in a farmhouse up ahead. We should be there before dark. We'll get some rest and head out in a couple of hours."

"I'm guessing Bidenko's not too happy about that."

"No he's not, and I'm beginning to wonder why," Sam replied. "There's something deeper going on with him."

"Maybe we should call Hetty on the satphone tonight," Deeks suggested. "No way she hasn't been digging into this guy's background."

Sam slapped him lightly on the back and pushed him forward into the mist now rising up from the wet ground. The wind died, and the temperature began dropping, the damp cold seeping into his body and making him even more grateful for the scarf and knit cap. The forest took on a medieval look, and the hollow echo of snapping limbs as they trod the ground became ominous. He shook off the feeling, knowing he was just exhausted, and jumpy after what had happened.

The rain blew in softly, mingling with the mist at his feet. It was like being inside a cloud. Ahead was the end of the woodland, and when they stopped at its edge, a field of sunflowers stretched out before them, the dull yellow patch the only color in the surrounding grayness. It was a small field surrounded by a line of trees on either side, with a muddy track that cut through the middle. At the end was a rough looking, dirty white farmhouse barely visible through the drizzle.

"Smoke," Bogdan said from behind him. "Marko is there."

"So is somebody else, and they aren't farmers," Sam said, pointing toward two armed men coming out of the barn leading a horse. "Everybody down."

Petruso had seen them too and hissed out a command to his men. He started out of the trees and quickly led his men to cover behind the tall sunflowers. They skirted the field on a rutted track, moving as quietly as they could. Deeks wanted to hurry, to find Marko alive, but he knew that was a long shot now. The voices grew louder as they approached the corner of the field. The unknown men were laughing, one having trouble controlling the agitated horse, who was snorting, its ears flat. Sam and Deeks moved past the others, finally kneeling down beside Petruso. His pistol was trained on the two, but Sam pushed his arm down and pantomimed what he intended to do, and motioned for Deeks to be ready. The horse kept the men's attention, so they were unaware of their presence until Sam put one in a chokehold and Deeks clocked the other with the barrel of his pistol. The horse seemed pleased and huffed out a snort before trotting back into the barn, making Deeks smile. The two unconscious men were dragged around the corner of the field and out of sight of the farmhouse. Bidenko spoke urgently to Petruso, who nodded and motioned for the men to be taken into the woods. Deeks and Sam exchanged looks, both aware that the questioning would probably be brutal. They needed to know who and how many they were up against, but the main question from Petruso would be about Marko. There was no reason to believe he was still alive, but his status would determine what happened next.

The rain had stopped, but a fine mist lingered just above the wet ground. Deeks and Sam returned to surveilling the area. Deeks kept an eye on the farmhouse while Sam stared intently at the barn, pointing out what looked like a vehicle inside.

"Sam," Deeks whispered, alerting him to a tall man who had just walked out of the house.

They watched as he flicked a cigarette into the mud, calling out to someone inside. Marko was suddenly shoved out the door. He collapsed to his knees and fell facedown, unable to brace himself with his hands tied behind his back. Three men followed, one yanking Marko back up onto his knees. He was blindfolded and gagged, and Deeks pulled his weapon a second after the tall man pulled his. They were going to shoot him. Sam put a hand on his shoulder, but Deeks shrugged it off without a thought, stepping out into the open and firing. The executioner went down and before the others could respond, Sam stepped up beside Deeks and opened fire, taking down the other two. Bogdan was suddenly beside him, shouting in Ukrainian, which brought two more men out of the farmhouse, but they had their hands up. Deeks turned to look at Bogdan, who shrugged as Pavlo and the rest of the men charged past them.

"I tell them we are Ukrainian army," he said. "Many, many men."

"Good thinking," he replied as he limped to where Pavlo was cutting Marko free.

There were streaks of blood on his cheek and head, and his gunshot wound was bleeding. Once he could see and the gag was out of his mouth, Marko started ranting loudly in Ukrainian, spitting on the corpse of the man who had intended to execute him. When he kicked the dead man, he stumbled, and Deeks grabbed his arm so he wouldn't fall.

"Deeks? You are alive," Marko said, looking him over with concern. "Did Yaryna find you? She ran to help you. She is okay?"

"Long story," Deeks murmured.

"Marko?" Petruso shouted as he hurried up. "What did the bastards do to you?"

"Bad things," he replied softly. "Give me gun."

Sam looked as if he wanted to argue, but Petruso didn't even question him, simply handed him his weapon. Marko walked over to the two men who had surrendered and shot them both. He handed the weapon back to Petruso and slowly collapsed. Petruso caught him, and called to his men, who gently carried the wounded man back inside. Petruso grabbed Bogdan and rattled off something in Ukrainian, occasionally looking at Deeks as the man answered. He looked shaken when he turned to face him.

"You did this," he stated, sweeping his arm out over the dead men. "You kill them to save Marko?"

"Sam and I did...yeah," he acknowledged.

"They could have shot you," Petruso said.

"Didn't give them time to do that," Deeks replied.

The man's face became clouded with an expression Deeks couldn't decipher. There was a look of vulnerability behind his eyes for a brief moment, but it disappeared into a feral look he did recognize. It was if a war was going on in his head, and playing out on his face. He looked down at the ground, toeing Marko's gag and blindfold, before looking back toward the woods where they had taken the two men they'd captured earlier. Slowly his face became placid. He had made some sort of decision, and Deeks waited to hear what it was.

"You save Marko," Petruso finally said. "So, I must tell you something."

"Okay. What?" Sam said.

"When I saw Yaryna dead, I blame you, Deeks," he confessed. "I loved her. Marko told me she was dangerous...crazy woman. But I did not want to hear this."

"He was right," Deeks said.

"I did not want to watch video either, but I did," Petruso said. "It made me very angry. At you."

"None of that was Deeks' fault," Sam insisted.

"I am jealous man, so that did not matter," he replied. "This CIA man, Bidenko...he could see my anger."

"What are you saying?" Deeks asked.

"He is very angry man," Petruso said. "The scars on his face. They are inside too. He wants Kalashnik to pay for those scars. He does not care about you or why you are here. He does not help you because he loves Ukraine. He made deal...to trade you for Kalashnik."

"Sonofabitch," Deeks said.

"And he offered to pay you to help him do that," Sam said with disgust.

"Yes."

Deeks suddenly felt very cold, and very vulnerable. Going in he knew this was a dangerous place. A dangerous mission. He just didn't realize how complicated that danger would become. Petruso had warned him not to trust Bidenko, and now he couldn't trust Petruso either. He backed away and put his hand on his weapon.

"When did you make this little deal?" Sam asked.

"On walk here...and in the woods just now. After he cut man's throat for not talking," he replied. "Says I have choice. Die fighting for you, or take money to work for him."

"You were going to take us tonight, weren't you?" Deeks said, pulling his pistol and holding it against his leg.

"Yes. But that will not happen now," Petruso said. "If you had not saved Marko, I would have helped Bidenko. He would pay me more money than little Hetty woman. More than reward."

"Who was the deal with?" Sam asked.

"One of Kalashnik's own men," he replied. "A man named Yehven Roshcha. He wants Kalashnik's drug business. Bidenko knows this, and made contact."

"Bidenko never got out of the mafia, did he?" Deeks asked.

"He has many friends in Kiev and Russian mafia," Petruso said. "He uses them to help your government, and maybe makes deals for himself sometimes. Now he uses your government's money to help him get what he wants. Kalashnik."

"And he's gonna betray us to do it," Sam said. "No way we're letting that happen. Come on Deeks. We're leaving."

"That is not good idea. It will be dark very soon, and you do not know where to go," Petruso said. "Please. I help you."

"Why should we trust you?" Deeks asked.

"Because you saved Marko's life. He is family. Like brother. This is only way I can thank you," he replied. "I give you my word."

The sharp crack of a pistol made all three of them jump. The sound came from the woods on the far side of the sunflower field. Bidenko had executed the last man he had interrogated. Deeks felt skittish, and he could sense tension in Sam's body language. Their choices were limited, and without Petruso and his men, they had little chance of rescuing Callen.

"I will kill him for you, if you want," Petruso said.

"No. We need to keep him in play," Sam said. "This stays between the three of us."

"You want us to trust you, yeah?" Deeks asked, waiting until the man nodded in agreement. "Then you need to tell us everything he's planning. The who, the where, what, and when. In others words. Everything. No secrets. Understand?"

"Now I am spy," he said with a grin. "I like this."

"Well don't get cocky. It's not easy being a spy," Sam warned. "Everybody is playing everybody else in this mess. Just remember...Bidenko is CIA and he's still alive, which means he's good at his job. You slip up, he'll know, and then he'll kill you."

"I thought you were trying to recruit him, Sam. Not scare him to death," Deeks said, smiling at him until he shrugged and smirked back.

"I am not scared of this man," Petruso snapped. "I am survivor too. I survive war here every day, just like when I was soldier five years ago."

"You were in the army?" Deeks asked.

"I did not like it," he replied, looking pissed. "Commander was stupid. Got men killed. I left."

"Great. A deserter," Sam said in disgust.

"Survivor," Petruso hissed. "You want to survive? To find your friend? I know how to do this."

He glared at Sam, before turning toward the farmhouse. "Come inside. We eat and get warm. Sleep maybe. Then we go find this man Callen."

"Let it go, Sam," Deeks said. "We need him."

"I just don't like the idea that Callen's life is in the hands of a deserter and a man willing to betray us just to avenge himself."

"But you understand it don't you?" Deeks asked. "We've all crossed the line one time or the other to seek revenge for ourselves or for those we love. Yeah?"

"You my conscience now?"

"Just my own, brother."

Sam reached out to squeeze his shoulder, and then nodded toward the man approaching behind him, both putting on their game faces. It was hard to make out Bidenko's expression in the dimming light and lifting fog. Their supposed ally was someone they now had to watch carefully and learn to read. He was playing a complex game and Deeks doubted he would be even a little bit honest with Petruso or with them. It was a chess game with real lives on the board. Bidenko wanted to be the winner, and he would sacrifice all of his pieces to make that happen.

"It's a chess game, Sam," he whispered.

"You gonna tell me I'm the black knight?"

"You fit the profile," Deeks smiled.

"Better than being a pawn in his game of vengeance," Sam growled.

"Wow! Seriously?"

"It reminds me of something G would say," Sam said, smiling sadly as the man walked up close enough to hear.

"Looks like I missed some of the action," Bidenko said, scanning the dead bodies.

"Deeks stopped them from executing Marko," Sam said. "I backed him up."

"Is that what you two were talking about?" He asked easily.

"Reminiscing about Callen," Deeks said. "Sam misses bantering with him."

"You were partners a long time," he replied.

"Did a little research did you?" Sam said.

"I never go on an op without knowing all the players," Bidenko said smugly. "He was a good agent."

"Sounds like you think he's dead," Sam said. "You get new intel from one of those guys you just killed?"

"Don't be so judgmental, Agent Hanna. It had to be done," he said.

"Answer the question. Did they give you any intel on Callen?" Sam asked, getting heated.

"They were Kalashnik's men," he said. "They were patrolling the area trying to find you two. You are very popular."

"Don't be a prick," Deeks snapped. "Is Callen still where we think he is?"

"No. They are moving him in the morning."

"To where?" Sam asked, anxious and angry.

"Not far," he replied. "They may have finally reached a deal with the Russians."

"Where are they taking him?" Sam demanded.

"An abandoned dairy farm near the border," he replied. "Just north of Pisky."

"What caused the move?" Deeks asked.

"He was a low level thug, Deeks," Bidenko said. "I got what I could out of him."

"Like an exact location?" Sam asked.

"It was on his phone," He replied, smiling as he held it up for them to see. "Tomorrow this will all be over, and we can go back to our lives. Right now, I'm cold and hungry. Is Marko up to cooking?"

"Why don't you go ask him," Deeks said. "But just so you know, he was unconscious when they took him inside."

"You sound pissed, Agent Deeks?" Bidenko said. "Still not over what happened to you yet?"

"Walk away, Bidenko," Sam said softly. "You're real close to stepping over the line right now."

"And what line would that be?"

"The one that keeps you upright," Sam said.

"Is that a threat, Agent Hanna?"

"That's a warning. The only one you're gonna get," Sam replied. "Now go inside. I'm sure you're tired from all that interrogating."

Bidenko offered no comeback, and Deeks was grateful for that. He was tired, angry, and close to exploding if the man made one more derisive comment. Sam must have sensed how close to the edge he was, and placed his big hand at the base of his neck and then ruffled his hair. The gesture calmed him, and he blew out his breath along with some of his anger. They watched Bidenko walk inside, both knowing that when he got his revenge, he planned to kill anyone left standing to protect himself and keep secret what he had done.

...

...


	11. Chapter 11

**Ashes on the Wind**

_Chapter 11_

...

He heard whispers in the darkness of the farmhouse, and saw Bidenko creep out the front door. A pool of light from a flashlight glowed in the far corner where Petruso was huddled with Marko, surrounded by his eight men. Marko argued, as did some of the men, but Petruso cut them off, until his voice was the only one he heard. He laid back down, and stared into the glowing remains of the fire, listening to a conversation he couldn't understand, trying to prepare himself for the day. Sam sat up, his back to the fire, waiting patiently until Petruso finally came over and knelt down in front of them.

"Bidenko is calling Roshcha," Petruso said. "I will go out and see what is plan."

"We're trusting you," Sam said.

"I know," he replied. "First light will come soon. Then we go."

"Is Marko up for this?" Deeks asked.

"No, but he lies. Says he is good," Petruso said. "Pavlo will bring horse for Marko to ride. Marko hates horses."

He smiled as he stood up, looked oddly at them before he turned and went out the door.

"You sure we can trust him?"

"It's our only play, Sam."

"Let's hope it works," He replied. "Because I don't trust Bidenko at all."

"You don't think they're really moving Callen, do you?"

"I haven't heard a good reason why they would."

"Maybe we should ask when Bidenko comes back," Deeks said, throwing off the thin blanket he'd slept under. "He might be willing to share now."

"So now you're back to being an optimist?"

Sam smiled and pulled Deeks to his feet. "Maybe."

Petruso's men were mumbling amongst themselves as they prepped their automatic weapons. Bogdan broke away and came over to them, silently handing them each a small apple. He smiled briefly and said something in Ukrainian neither one understood, then fist pounded Deeks on the shoulder and walked away.

"What was that?" Sam asked.

"Must be a Ukrainian buddy thing," Deeks said with a grin, checking his pistol before securing it behind his back.

He took a bite out of the apple, its sweet juice running down into his thick beard. It wasn't much, and he quickly finished it, tossing the core into the dying fire. He turned at the sound of the door opening. Petruso came in with his AR12 up, and pointed right at them. His men closed on the two of them fast, Bogdan and Pavlo taking their weapons while the others covered them.

"What the hell did you do, man?" Sam shouted as his hands were tied behind his back.

"Money was too good," Petruso shrugged.

"Who's paying you now?" Deeks asked.

"I am," Bidenko said, smirking as he walked in the door.

Deeks broke free and charged the two men, ignoring a warning from Sam. Petruso tried to stop him, but Bidenko stepped around him, catching Deeks on the side of the head with the barrel of his gun. He stumbled and started to fall, but Bogdan caught him and glared at Petruso.

"What the hell are you up to, Bidenko?" Sam asked. "I thought we were on the same side?"

"I have my own agenda that has nothing to do with your mission," Bidenko said. "It's personal. Very personal."

"What about Callen? Are they really taking him to that dairy farm?" Deeks asked, wincing from his new bruise as his hands were tied behind his back.

"My intel is good," he replied. "Of course he will be on his way to Russia along with you two, right after I get what I came for."

"And what would that be?" Sam asked.

"Kalashnik."

"You'd betray your own country for some personal vendetta?" Sam asked.

"I read your file, Agent Hanna. You have been tortured," Bidenko said. "Did you not seek revenge on Siderov? The man who made you suffer? You killed him, didn't you?"

"He had my wife," Sam said quietly. "I killed him to make her safe."

"But you lost her to another one of your undercover marks," he replied. "He killed her in his vendetta against you. Her blood is on your hands, so you have no right to judge me."

Sam struggled to reach the man, but Pavlo held him back.

"He's a douche, Sam," Deeks said, stepping in front of him.

"He's a traitor," Sam said.

"Spying is a business, my friend," he replied. "Deals are made all the time."

"Not one that jeopardizes your own country," Deeks said. "Ukrainians will die if we don't get that intel on the attack Russia is planning. Don't you care?"

"Shut up, Deeks," Bidenko said, his voice low and threatening. "Or I'll have you gagged."

"Leave him alone," Marko said, limping up to join them, staring at Deeks intently. "We have deal, yes?"

"Are you talking to me or Deeks?" Bidenko asked.

"You are man with money, CIA man," he replied, turning to face him. "Deeks is just poor bastard you sell to Russians."

"I am not the one selling him to the Russians. That would be Yehven Roshcha, Kalashnik's right hand man," Bidenko said. "I get Kalashnik and Roshcha gets you two and a drug cartel. Lots of betrayal to go around in Ukraine. In American government, too. You think they care about you or your mission? This is a black op. They will disavow you all without a second thought. Ukraine means nothing to America."

"Or apparently to you," Deeks said, unprepared for the rage that exploded in Bidenko as soon as the words left his mouth.

The man roared something in Ukrainian and grabbed his shirt, driving him back till he hit the wall. He pressed the muzzle of his pistol up under Deeks' chin as he berated him in a rush of unintelligible words. Bogdan and Pavlo tried to pull him off, but he resisted, shouting for them to get away.

"You don't know me, you American fuck," he growled in his face. "Or what I can do to you. You think what Yaryna and that fucking Russian did to you was torture? I can show you the bodies of the men I interrogated yesterday. Show you what's left of them. I gagged them with their own scarves so tightly they couldn't scream. But they could see and, oh God yes, they could feel. Do you want to know what it feels like to watch yourself being gutted and be unable to hear your own screams? Because I would be very happy to show you."

"Don't do this, man," Sam said.

"You promise Roshcha two men, Bidenko," Petruso said, gripping the man's shoulder. "I know Roshcha, like you do. If you bring only one, it will break deal, and he will kill you. You do not want to die before you have chance to do to Kalashnik what you did to men in woods. Let Deeks go. It is long way and Roshcha is waiting."

The rage in the man's eyes faded as he pushed off of him, his breathing heavy as he touched the terrible scars on his face. Deeks understood that feeling of rage that lived deep in your gut after surviving unbearable pain. He had struggled with it for a long time, fighting to overcome that feeling of vulnerability that lingered because of what Siderov had done to him. His torture still haunted him, as it obviously haunted Bidenko, but he had killed his tormentor, Bidenko still dreamed of killing his. Maybe that was the difference between them. He really didn't blame him for wanting vengeance on the man, but to sacrifice others to make that happen was just wrong. What Bidenko had suffered made him lose his way, maybe even his mind. As sympathetic as he was to what had happened to the man, he couldn't excuse him for what he was doing now.

"Bring them outside," Bidenko ordered, and stepped aside.

Petruso let out a long breath and pulled Deeks away from the wall. "Don't be stupid again. Okay?"

Petruso called out some orders and Pavlo and another man helped Marko out the door. Bidenko stopped Deeks as he started past him.

"If you do anything or say anything to make me angry, I will hurt you. Bad. I don't have to deliver you in one piece. Remember that."

Deeks resisted the urge to make a wiseass remark when Petruso squeezed down hard on his arm. Sam just looked relieved. So far, this was not going well, and he dropped his head as he was shoved out into the cold.

"Give us our coats," Sam said as Bidenko stood staring up the road.

"You were a SEAL, Agent Hanna. Aren't you trained to survive freezing temperatures?"

"Deeks wasn't," he snapped back.

"Then he will just have to suffer, won't he?"

Sam looked ready to throttle the guy, and probably would have if his hands weren't tied behind his back. But it was Bogdan who said something to Bidenko, and it made him angry. Petruso had to step between them before anything happened.

"You want to get paid, Petruso? Then tell your men to do as I say," Bidenko demanded. "Now...Let's go."

"Sorry Deeks," Petruso said. "He is in charge now."

"Awesome."

"Look, Truso," Marko shouted as he came out of the barn on the horse. "I am cowboy."

He was straddling the wary horse holding tightly onto its mane as a man led them over. Even in the semi-darkness Deeks could see there was no saddle, and he wondered how long Marko would be able to stay on the animal in his weakened condition. He was trying to look confident, but Deeks could see he was in bad shape and a little scared.

"I thought you hated horses, Marko," Deeks called out as he approached.

"I do, but don't tell horse," he said as they stopped beside him. "I need him to like me."

Marko made him laugh, and it felt good to have someone lighten the mood.

"Why you have no coat?" He asked softly.

"Orders from the new boss," Deeks said.

"Stay by horse," he said. "He smells, but he is warm."

"Thanks, brother."

With Sam on one side and Deeks on the other they followed Petruso and Bidenko as they trudged along the muddy track that led north. The horse didn't seem to mind them being so close to its shoulder, and occasionally the animal would swing his big head around to look back at him. Whenever they stopped he would lean up against its big body, welcoming the warmth that eased his shivering in the damp cold. Bogdan and Pavlo had been assigned once again to cover the rear. He could hear them talking in whispers, and wondered what they were talking about. Whatever it was, the two men were not happy.

After walking for at least an hour, Deeks was able to make out the landscape surrounding them. A bombed out house emerged from the drizzle that had been falling since they left. Not long after, they came upon a burned out truck with two dead bodies inside. The ground fog gave the passing scene an eerie, other worldly feel, making him shiver, the cold seeping up through his boots the longer they walked. Heavy clouds hung darkly overhead and he heard rumblings of thunder to the north. There were few trees now, and craters peppered both sides of the barely discernible track they were on.

"Russian shelling," Marko said, pointing at the wounded earth they were passing through. "Many people killed. Russians do not want the people, just land. Hard times."

They stayed silent for a long time after that, both enduring the bitter weather, and trying to ignore the cold. Finally they came upon what remained of a village, most of the houses roofless with the windows blown out. It was a sad reminder of what was at stake if they didn't recover the intel from the Russian defector. When they entered the outskirts Deeks slowed and noticed that Marko was now hunched over the horse's neck, moaning as the animal came to a stop. He started sliding off, and Deeks leaned into him trying to keep him from falling. Despite his efforts, the big man toppled off and took them both to the ground. Deeks was pinned down by his body, and called out to Bogdan, who was instantly beside them. With Pavlo's help they pulled Marko off of him and shouted for Petruso. They carried him over to a bombed out house and propped him up against its wall. Deeks struggled to get up out of the mud and away from the agitated horse now fighting the lead rope. There was nothing Deeks could do but try and keep out from under its hooves.

"Control that animal, or I'll shoot him," Bidenko shouted.

The man holding the lead paid him no mind, maybe because he'd spoken in English and was fighting a huge brown horse. The horse's eyes were wild, and the man could do nothing to calm him. Bidenko raised his weapon to fire, and Deeks lunged at him, hitting him just below the knees, knocking him down into the mud. It enraged him, and he swore in both languages. Deeks thought he might shoot him instead of the horse and scooted away to put some distance between them. Pavlo suddenly walked between them, ignoring the gun Bidenko was pointing at Deeks. He took the lead rope and spoke softly to the big animal, moving in close to stroke its neck. The taut muscles beneath its coat quivered, but slowly the horse became still, huffing out its anxiousness as Pavlo led him back between the two men and over to where Petruso stood over Marko.

"Put gun away, Bidenko," Petruso said. "We are too close now. Firing gun is not good idea."

Bidenko wiped at the mud spattered across his face, and got to his feet. His eyes never left Deeks, who was struggling to get up. The kick caught him just under the eye and his head snapped back. Warm blood spilled down his cheek as he collapsed onto the muddy ground.

"Leave him alone," Sam's voice boomed out.

Deeks felt his presence more than saw him. He stood right over him, protecting him without any protection of his own. Deeks spit out the taste of mud as his left eye began to swell. He was grateful when a couple of Petruso's men lifted him to his feet.

"You okay?" Sam asked as he moved up beside him.

"Probably not as attractive as I used to be."

"Actually, I think the mud and blood helps your look," Sam grinned.

Bidenko suddenly shoved Deeks toward Petruso and brought his pistol down on the back of Sam's head, sending him to the ground.

"Why you do this?" Petruso shouted at him.

"I want them to know who is in charge," he replied.

"Bullshit," Deeks said. "You're just a mean sonofabitch spinning out of control."

"You know nothing about me," he hissed.

"And I'd just as soon keep it that way," Deeks said. "I know too much already."

"We will rest here for little while," Petruso said, as he helped Sam up. "Marko is hurting."

"No. Leave him here," Bidenko said. "Roshcha is waiting."

Petruso looked ready to kill, but Sam stepped in front of him. "Its a good idea. He's too weak. He won't be able to protect himself if he goes. Right now, he's probably running a fever, so we need to get him out of this rain and get him warm. I can check him over if you untie me. I have field training..."

"That will not happen, Agent Hanna," Bidenko said.

"What are you afraid of, Bidenko?" Deeks pointed out. "He's not armed and your guys have all the weapons."

"Shut up, Deeks," he snapped.

"If Marko dies, I will kill you, Bidenko. Understand?" Petruso said. "So, I will untie Sam and he will help Marko, or our deal is finished."

"You have twenty minutes, Hanna," Bidenko said, grabbing Deeks and hauling him out to the center of the street. "If you try to escape, I will cut off both of Deeks' thumbs, which I will enjoy very much."

"I know you're a really sick bastard, Viktor, but let's not get carried away with the cutting off of phalanges, okay?" Deeks said. "One question though. Does everybody at the agency know about your weird obsession with body parts?"

"Why do you think the CIA recruited me?"

The comment left Deeks stunned, but at least Sam was being untied. He looked back at him and nodded before following the men carrying Marko inside the ruined house.

"Guess you lost this round, yeah?" Deeks said. "Petruso cares about Marko. They're brothers."

"It will not matter," Bidenko said. "They will all be dead by the end of the day."

"Sonofabitch."

"I never leave witnesses," he whispered in his ear, putting him in a chokehold as he tried to cry out a warning.

Bidenko dragged him behind the remaining wall of the house across the street, and shoved him to the ground. With a knee in his back he forced a bloody cloth between his teeth and wrapped it around and around until finally tying the gag tightly behind his head.

"The last man didn't need it anymore," Bidenko said, leaving him face down and struggling not to vomit.

He walked around and around him talking to himself, and Deeks was starting to believe the man had gone completely insane.

"I will bring Kalashnik here," he said as he continued his circuit. "No one will come or hear him scream. I can take my time. Do you know how long I have been dreaming of this day?"

It was like he'd forgotten that Deeks was gagged and couldn't respond. The man stopped and got the toe of his boot under his shoulder, shoving him over onto his side. Crouching down beside him he began to describe what he intended to do to Kalashnik. Deeks closed his eyes against the sick look on the man's face, trying to block out the monstrous plans he was being forced to listen to. When he opened his eyes, the man was waving a serious looking curved blade in front of his face.

"Have you ever seen a knife like this?" He asked. "It's a folding karambit knife for close quarter combat. It's what I'll use to cut off your thumbs if Agent Hanna tries to make a run for it. I always start with the extremities, especially when I have a lot of time."

He stood up and resumed circling him, this time speaking in Ukrainian, which was a welcomed relief. He didn't want to know any more degenerate details. It was beginning to make him feel a little sorry for Kalashnik, if Bidenko did manage to get his hands on him. Trust was becoming a valuable commodity, and a rare one. He didn't know this man Yehven Roshcha, but he was pretty sure he wasn't to be trusted any more than Bidenko.

"Hey, Viktor," Bogdan called out just beyond the wall. "Petruso want you."

"Why?" The man growled.

"He did not tell me," Bogdan said as he appeared and leaned nonchalantly against the crumbling wall.

"And you didn't ask," Bidenko said, sounding irritated by the interruption.

Bidenko began berating the man in his own language, showing him the knife to emphasize some point he was making. Bogdan was amazingly calm, watching him placidly as he smoked, and shrugged when he was done talking.

"Watch him," Bidenko growled as he left.

Bogdan waited until Bidenko entered the house, then quickly slipped inside the wall. He knelt down beside Deeks and gently lifted his head.

"Man is bastard," he said and dragged him over to the wall.

He helped him lean back, and quickly undid the gag. Grimacing at its smell, Bogdan muttered something in Ukrainian and threw the gross thing away in disgust. Deeks bent over and vomited what remained of the apple the man had given him that morning. Using his own scarf, Bogdan wiped most of the mud and blood off Deeks' face.

"Petruso is very angry," Bogdan said. "Wants to kill Bidenko very much."

"Bidenko is going to have you all killed," Deeks choked out. "Be ready."

"We are not stupid," he said, laughing gruffly.

"I know," Deeks said. "How's Marko?"

"Sam fix bandage, so he is okay now. But he does not want to ride horse again."

They both laughed at that, and Deeks was immensely grateful for his kindness. He spit out the foul taste in his mouth, breathing deeply of the cold fresh air. A shout from the house had Bogdan lifting him to his feet. When he turned around, he felt the man loosen the ropes around his wrists.

"Thanks," he breathed out as the man pulled him into the open and walked him over to where everyone was waiting.

"I didn't tell to take out the gag," Bidenko said, his expression fierce.

Bogdan simply shrugged and stood his ground. "You want gag? Go find it."

Petruso put his hand on Bidenko's chest, stopping him from going after Bogdan. "Roshcha is waiting. Remember, Viktor? We go as soon as you pay."

"You get paid after I get Kalashnik," he replied.

"No. You don't pay now...we leave," Petruso said stubbornly, and his men raised their weapons.

"You carry that kind of cash on you, Viktor?" Sam asked, pronouncing his name as if it were a dirty word.

"Of course not," he snapped. "It is a bank transfer. Do you have an account, Petruso?"

"In Kiev," he replied, and Bidenko's eyes widened in surprised. "You want account number?"

"You want to do this now?" Bidenko asked, clearly not happy.

"Afraid somebody back home might ask questions?" Sam said.

"My payoffs are never questioned," he growled.

"Here is number," Petruso said, holding up his cell phone. "Do it."

"Just curious. How much are our lives worth, Petruso?" Deeks asked.

"One hundred fifty thousand American dollars," he replied with a big smile.

"Hetty would have paid that," Sam said.

"She is not here," he replied as Bidenko punched the account number into his phone.

"Are we good?" Bidenko asked as Petruso checked the transfer.

"Okay," he replied happily. "We go find rat, Kalashnik. Pavlo will stay with Marko and horse."

Sam looked Deeks over carefully as they walked, and asked if he was okay as they were surrounded once again by Petruso's men. He shrugged and stared down at the ground, not wanting to share all the terrible things Bidenko had told him, and he was grateful when Sam let it go. At least the rain had eased off, but the mud still made the going sloppy. He had no idea how far they had to go, but he wanted this over. How it would all end, he had no idea. The only thing he looked forward to was seeing Callen again. They knew he was alive, or they wouldn't be on this trek, but what kind of shape he would be in when they found him concerned them both.

The landscape they moved through once again showed signs of earlier battles, with shell holes and an occasional bunker covering the tortured ground. When they finally entered an oak forest, it was a relief. The earthy smell after the rain was comforting, something he thought he'd never admit. It reminded him of Kensi. His memories were bittersweet, his hopes put on hold. It was hard to keep his spirits up when he wasn't sure if he'd ever see her again, so sadness settled in deep. With it came anger, and that he didn't want to control.

Bidenko suddenly raised a closed fist and everyone crouched low, except for him and Sam. Bogdan pulled him down to one knee, but Sam resisted, staring out at the dairy farm visible just beyond the trees. For some reason, Deeks had pictured a bunch of black and white cows, even though he knew it had long been abandoned. Now all he saw were a couple of trucks with the beds covered in canvas. They looked military and that confused him. The barns were huge and long, surrounded by aluminum fences in various stages of disrepair. A pink stucco house sat up on a small rise behind the trucks, so he assumed that's where they would be meeting Kalashnik and Roshcha.

"Armed men by the nearest barn," Sam whispered.

"Two more by the trucks," he replied. "You think they're keeping Callen in the house or the barn?"

"My guess would be in one of the trucks," Sam replied. "Remember...their plan is to move all three of us over the border into Russia. Probably tonight."

"So you're saying those are Russian trucks?" Deeks asked, and Sam nodded.

Bidenko was making his way back to them, and the men parted reluctantly as he walked. Petruso followed, speaking to a couple of men who immediately split off and headed out along the edge of the woods. Bidenko grabbed Deeks' arm, and jerked him forward, while Petruso simply swept his arm out as if inviting Sam to join some old friends, which Deeks supposed was the truth. Callen was somewhere up ahead and so was their future. Bidenko had his phone to his ear, speaking rapidly in Ukrainian. After a brief pause, he began speaking Russian, and Deeks looked quickly at Sam.

"All the players in one spot," Sam said. "Let the games begin."

...

...


	12. Chapter 12

**Ashes on the Wind**

_Chapter 12_

...

The heavy limbs of the oaks were almost black from the early morning rain. Bidenko seemed hesitant and irritable as they moved beneath them, cursing whenever a residual drop of rain from the canopy caught him or splashed on the screen of his sat phone. He was anxiously waiting for a return call from Roshcha. It was a long time coming. Once they reached the edge of the woods, they paused behind the wide trunk of a signature oak that stood sentinel, overlooking the dairy farm. Petruso stood behind Sam and Bogdan moved up close to Deeks' back.

"Deal not working out?" Sam asked with a smirk.

The backhand came without warning, but Sam remained firmly on his feet, only his head snapping sideways, and only briefly. He turned back to glare at the man, his expression volcanic.

"You're being a little over sensitive, don't you think, Bidenko?" Deeks said. "I always thought CIA operatives were trained to be cool in tense situations."

"Shut up, you irritating fuck," he growled. "You don't have to be conscious when I turn you over to Roshcha."

The phone interrupted as he took a step toward Deeks, and he turned away to scan the farm. Kalashnik walked out of the nearest barn, followed by six men, all of them armed. Bidenko spoke into the phone in a rapid whisper of harsh words. It sounded like an argument, making all of them nervous.

Bidenko held the phone in a death grip at the end of the call. "Roshcha has changed the plan. Before he makes his move on Kalashnik, he wants to secure Sam and Deeks."

"Guess we're not the only ones who don't trust you," Deeks said.

"It is dangerous for him to have Deeks and Sam," Petruso said. "We will not be in control."

In that moment, Deeks sensed just how fragile their situation was. There were too many deals on the table, and too many men with ulterior motives and hidden agendas. He looked at Sam, seeking to draw on the man's inner strength to reinforce his own. The big man nodded at him and he felt nothing but rock solid trust from the man. They had come a long way together, and he didn't want to let him down, so he flashed a soft smile and nodded back. But it was Petruso who looked troubled. Now that he had his money, there was nothing keeping him here, and Bidenko realized that.

"Do we still have a deal, Petruso?" Bidenko asked. "Or will you run out on me?"

"I will honor deal I made," he replied, glancing over at Deeks.

"I see Roshcha. He is by truck," Bogdan pointed out.

"I count five men with him," Bidenko said.

"What makes you think Roshcha won't shoot you once you give us up?" Sam asked. "He doesn't need you, Bidenko, or Petruso and his men. Just us."

Some of the color drained from the man's face, but he covered his brief uncertainty with anger, shoving Sam out in the open.

"I promised Roshcha more than you two," Bidenko said, looking smug once again. "Now move, Deeks. Let's get this done."

The long walk in the open was nerve-wracking. His mouth was dry as he searched the area for any sign of Callen, and he could see that Sam was doing the same. They only had Bidenko's word that he was here.

"I heard you speaking Russian to someone," Deeks said as he walked beside Bidenko. "Do they already have Callen in one of those trucks?"

"If I were you, I'd worry about myself," Bidenko said. "You're the weakest link on the team from what I've heard."

"Then you've been listening to the wrong people," Sam said. "We just want confirmation that Callen's alive. That intel won't change anything in your deal, but it would make us a helluva lot more cooperative."

"I don't need your cooperation," he said. "I like keeping you two guessing."

"You are a real died-in-the-wool douchebag, Viktor," Deeks said.

"And you're a soon-to-be Russian prisoner," he replied. "So keep walking."

The three groups moved cautiously toward one another, the tension crackling like heat lightning. Bidenko moved out in front of them, pausing at the aluminum gate while Petruso's men remained behind and slowly spread out along the fence. Bidenko called out in Ukrainian, pushed through the gate and raised his hands. Deeks felt a rush of adrenaline when Bogdan loosened his bindings almost completely and raised his shirt, tucking a pistol behind his back, and shoving a small knife into his back pocket. Petruso was doing the same with Sam. A sudden bolt of hope shot through him. The man had kept his word and now they had to play the ruse to the end with no idea as to the plans of all the players now converging. Each group was supposedly betraying the other, and he and Sam would be in the middle of it. Now that they were armed, at least they had a fighting chance. He stared at Petruso, wondering if the man would desert them now that he had his money and had given them the weapons he'd promised. There was no reason for him to risk his life and that of his men for either of them. He was a bandit after all.

Kalashnik swaggered up to them looking self satisfied, his smile twisted and arrogant. Deeks saw Bidenko clinch his fist, his body almost completely rigid as he faced the man who had viciously tortured him all those years ago.

"We meet again, old friend," Kalashnik said. "Playing both sides like the old days, Viktor? I am not surprised. You always look out for number one. Does CIA know you are traitor?"

Bidenko said nothing, just stood frozen except for one trembling hand.

Kalashnik laughed at his lack of response, and stepped in front of Deeks and pointed at Petruso. "These are the friends who rescue you, yes? Yuri was right. I told him you knew no one in Ukraine, but he said there must be something about you that made people want to help you. So you find Petruso or he finds you? Then Burachek disappears. Did you kill him Petruso? Or did Deeks?"

"I shot him in the head," Bidenko said, finally finding his voice. "He did not matter anymore."

"The Russians who are here will be very interested to know this," Kalashnik said.

"Do those Russians have Agent Callen somewhere around here?" Sam asked.

"We meet again, Sam Hanna," Kalashnik said. "Did he tell you I shot him, Deeks? No? He is ashamed to be caught so easily."

"You shot me in the back," Sam said.

"That makes me a smart man," he replied.

"It makes you coward," Petruso spit out.

"You are the one I do not understand," Kalashnik said to him. "You rescue these two Americans, and now you betray them. For money, yes? So, where is your honor, Petruso? You are just a dirty thief. Nothing more."

The insults were thick, and emotions were running hot. The look on Petruso's face was a warning of just how volatile the situation was. Deeks was almost vibrating as they waited for that singular moment when one of the players would crack, igniting the spark that would send this intimate slice of the world into an explosion of violence.

"You want me to take Americans, Symon?" Roshcha asked.

Deeks' heart fluttered in anticipation. He looked quickly over at Sam, as Petruso step away from him, his gun already in his hand. Bogdan didn't move, his grip tightening on Deeks' arm. As Roshcha moved to take them, Bidenko reached behind his back for his pistol.

"We all pay for wrong choices," Kalashnik said and shot Roshcha in the head.

Gunfire erupted all around them, shattering the last moment of peace. Bidenko's scream was raw, the savage cry of a man unhinged. Deeks tore the ropes from his wrists and yanked the gun from behind his back. Sam yelled for him as he shed his own bindings and bolted toward the Russian trucks. Callen was their only mission now. Whatever happened behind them was out of their control. But Deeks couldn't help but look back at the firefight, as screams of pain filled the air over the chatter of automatic weapons fire. Petruso lay flat on the ground, firing at will, but it was the terrible look of rage on Bidenko's face as he physically attacked Kalashnik, that held his gaze. He clawed at the man like a wild animal, tackling him to the ground.

"Deeks!"

He turned back at Sam's shout, suddenly realizing that Bogdan was still beside him, taking down Roshcha's men as they fired on them. The engine of the Russian transport truck roared to life, and Deeks saw Sam racing to catch it as it rumbled off into the woods.

"Go!" Bogdan shouted. "I will watch back."

Deeks nodded and ran after Sam. The side flap of the second truck was pulled open, and two men inside began firing at Sam as the truck bumped over the rough terrain beside him. Deeks fired on the run, taking out one man while Bogdan shot the other one. As the Russian tumbled out, the truck swerved in behind the first truck, almost hitting Sam, who somehow managed to jump on the running board. He fired a kill shot pointblank into the driver, sending the truck into a tree.

"Sam!" Deeks screamed when he saw him fall, but he put up his hand and waved him on.

Ignoring his pain and exhaustion, he ran past Sam, focusing on the bouncing truck in front of him. Adrenaline surged in his veins as he closed on the swerving truck. When the driver shifted gears and skidded on the muddy track, Deeks leaped onto the bumper and grabbed the tailgate. The truck fishtailed and Deeks lost his footing, leaving him hanging by one hand and fighting to stay on. He managed to get one foot back up on the bumper just as the back flaps suddenly parted. Before Deeks could react a soldier in tactical gear fired a pistol at him, the bullet clipping his side. Deeks fired back, and the man tumbled out over the tailgate.

"Sonofabitch," he cried out as the truck lurched to a sudden stop.

The tailgate was shoved open, sending Deeks flailing and tumbling to the ground. He was stunned, and lay still, trying to catch his breath. When he looked up, the back flap was open, and a soldier stood there, taking careful aim at him. Deeks clawed through the gritty mud, desperately trying to reached his weapon. He flinched at the burst of gunfire, but felt no pain, stunned as the man came flying out the back of the truck, his weapon firing harmlessly into the air. When he hit the ground Deeks shot him until the man lay still. Scrambling to his feet, he pointed his gun ahead of him as he made his way toward the truck.

"Don't shoot me, Deeks."

"Callen?" Deeks called out. "Sonofabitch. Did you just kick that guy in the ass?"

Before he got a response, the door to the front cab slammed open and Deeks stepped to the side to deal with the newest threat. Three shots hit the driver from behind and he collapsed to the ground before Deeks had a chance to fire. The man still inside showed his hands before climbing down from the cab.

"Don't shoot him either, Deeks," Callen said. "He's on our side now."

Deeks nodded at the man before hurrying to the back of the truck. Callen was sitting with his legs dangling over the tailgate. He was a mess. His hands and elbows were tied behind his back, and he was barefoot. All he wore was a bloody, shredded tee shirt over his camo pants. He'd been beaten. His face was badly swollen and marred with cuts, crusted blood clung to the corners of his mouth, and his eyes were blackened and bloodshot. He was almost unrecognizable, but his voice was as strong as he remembered. Deeks choked down his anger and pulled himself up into the bed of the truck and quickly cut him free.

"Are you alone? Is Sam...did Sam make it?" Callen asked softly, his eyes uncertain and brimming with tears.

"He was right behind me a minute ago," Deeks replied, sitting down beside him.

"I could hear you talking before the firefight...I couldn't believe it...I thought..." he mumbled.

"That we were dead?"

"Yeah. That," he whispered.

"Came close a couple of times," Deeks said.

"I'm sorry, Deeks," Callen said, rubbing his hand across his head.

He looked exhausted and in great pain, but he was trying hard to conceal it. "You've got no reason to apologize, brother. Kalashnik betrayed us. Did he do this to you?"

"To tell you the truth...I lost track of who was beating on me," he said, his voice breaking. "There was one Russian...I think his name was Yuri...not sure. He seemed to enjoy his work."

"Yuri Burachek. Bastard tried to drown me," Deeks said, his name tasting foul in his mouth. "Bidenko shot him in the head."

"Couldn't happen to a nicer guy," Callen said with his signature smirk. "Who's Bidenko?"

"CIA, with ties to the local mafia. Believe it or not, Hetty called Kirkin for help when the CIA told her the three of us were dead," he replied, grinning when Callen shook his head and smiled. "Kirkin recommended Viktor Bidenko."

"You look a little pissed about that."

"Bidenko is certifiable with his own agenda, which is how we got here," Deeks said.

"Looks like you had a few bad days yourself," Callen said.

"Yeah...kinda."

"Deeks?"

"I'll tell you about the witch and the Russian later," Deeks replied. "Right now I'm not up for it, and you don't need to hear it."

"Who was this man?" the Russian asked, stepping around the side of the truck as Deeks jumped down.

"Anton Petrovich Konev," Deeks said softly. "Won't forget it for a long time."

"I have heard of this man. He tortures people for intel," Orlov said. "Callen told me you were both strong men. I did not believe him until now. It is good to be wrong sometimes."

"Meet Fyodor Orlov, our Russian defector," Callen said. "Sounds like you might have saved his life."

"I am sure of that, or I would not be here."

"How did you end up here?" Deeks asked, suddenly suspicious.

"I am FSB," he replied. "I assigned myself to this mission when I heard intel the Kiev Mafia had captured Americans for sale."

"I shouldn't be surprised. It's been a crazy kind of a day."

"Deeks? Where's Sam?" Callen said.

"In the middle of that mess back there."

"I need to know...I need to know he's okay," Callen choked out.

"Don't worry. I'll find him," Deeks said, reaching out to him. "It is so good to see you, brother."

Callen gripped his hand and pulled him close and Deeks was filled with a sudden flood of emotion. Now that they had found him, he was reluctant to let go of him. Callen seemed to feel the same, squeezing his shoulder as he fought back tears.

"We have company," Orlov said.

The sound of heavy footfalls moving fast had Deeks and the Russian preparing for whoever showed up around the bend in the road. When the sound stopped, Deeks called out.

"If you're name's not Sam, do yourself a favor...turn around and get the hell out of here."

"Tell me some good news, Deeks," Sam's voice boomed out as he walked into sight.

When Sam saw Callen he dropped his head and pinched his eyes before blowing out his breath and looking up to the sky. They both knew he was giving thanks to Allah. He trudged toward them, never taking his eyes off his partner except to glance once at Orlov. Sporadic gunfire echoed up from the dairy farm, and now that Callen was safe, Deeks felt an urgent need to go back and see what had happened there. Sam looked sad and it scared him, but he said nothing, reaching instead for Callen.

"You look like bloody hell, partner, but it's damn good to see you," he said, climbing up to sit beside him.

He pulled Callen into a hug, holding him close as emotion overwhelmed them both.

"Kalashnik told me what they did to Deeks," Callen said. "I figured he was lying until Deeks showed up looking like Pigpen."

"Guess I could use a shower. Maybe two...or three," Deeks said, smiling for the first time.

"You do smell," the Russian said. "And you are bleeding."

"I'll take a look at him and Callen as soon as he gets back," Sam said, then looked steadily at Deeks. "Bogdan is asking for you, brother. He's hurt pretty bad."

"Sonofabitch," Deeks whispered, shocked at the emotion he felt. "Petruso?"

"Wounded and pissed," Sam replied. "They're hold up in the house with what's left of his men."

"Go, Deeks," Callen said. "We'll wait for you."

"This does not seem wise," Orlov said. "I cannot risk being killed."

"This isn't your decision," Sam said. "We owe those people our lives, so shut up and stay put. We'll be back."

"You're coming?" Deeks asked.

"Well I'm not letting you go alone. We're partners in this. At least until Kensi shows up," Sam replied.

"Why don't we all go?" Callen said. "We can drive the truck down."

"There may be a firefight," Sam said. "You up for that?"

Callen silently held out his hand for a weapon, and it wasn't hard to see how much anger simmered beneath all the cuts and bruises he'd suffered. Deeks picked up the Russian AR12s from the ground, and handed one up to Callen before turning toward the passenger side of the truck. When the Russian started for the cab, Sam stopped him.

"I'll drive."

Callen laughed that familiar giggle of his, and Deeks paused, flush with a feeling of gratefulness and relief. The team was together again, except for Kensi. She should have been here, but if he knew his wife, she would be a part of their exfil team, and he couldn't wait to hold her.

...

Sam stopped the big Russian truck just short of the pink stucco house. The center pasture was littered with bodies. It reminded Deeks of the day he'd woken up on a similar battlefield staring at the bones of a man he hoped he didn't know. Too much death and violence to understand and justify. That would come later.

"I don't see Kalashnik," Deeks said.

"Or Bidenko," Sam said.

A bullet shattered the windshield between them and both tumbled out of the cab seeking better cover behind the truck.

"Go away, Russian bastards," Petruso yelled from the house. "Or we will kill you all."

"Do I look like a Russian to you?" Sam shouted before stepping out into the open with his arms wide.

"Where is Deeks?" Petruso asked as he limped out on the porch. "Tell me he is not dead."

"Not yet," Deeks said as he walked out from behind the truck. "Heard you were wounded."

"I will live, but Bogdan...he is not good," the man said. "Did you find your friend?"

"And the asset and intel we came for," Sam replied.

"Where's Bidenko?" Deeks asked.

"I do not know, but he is alive," Petruso said and spit on the ground. "No body. Kalashnik gone also."

"Sonofabitch."

"Bogdan calls your name," Petruso said. "He like you. I do not understand this, but it will make him happy if you come see him now."

"Go ahead, Deeks," Sam said. "I'll stand guard here. G's not operational."

"I heard that," Callen said.

"Sit tight, G," Sam said. "I'll let you know if we need help."

Deeks slung the assault rifle over his back and limped toward the house. The bodies of two of Petruso's men lay crumpled just below the porch, their blood coloring a puddle of rainwater.

"Is your friend worth these two men?" Petruso hissed.

"I'm sorry, man," Deeks said. "Why didn't you leave when you had the chance?"

Petruso looked out over the field of dead, his jaw clinched tight. "We had deal."

"But you had your money."

"I love Ukraine, Deeks," he replied quietly. "It is my people who will die if Russians come back. What good is money if friends and family die? Your friend will tell us when bastards come and we will be ready."

"Thanks for hanging around, brother," Deeks said. "Too bad Bidenko got away."

"Bidenko is traitor," he spit out. "He only see his own pain. But not pain people will suffer here. I will shoot him if I see him again."

"Not if I see him first," he said. "How bad is Bogdan?"

"He will die soon."

Deeks didn't want to appear weak in front of this man, but he couldn't stem the tears that blurred his eyes at the stark and painful words. They had become brothers during the long and dangerous days they'd traveled together. It was an unexpected friendship, and he was sad to see it end in death. The inside of the house smelled of blood and hopelessness, the men inside watching him with accusatory eyes. Bogdan lay on the couch, bloody and barely breathing. He looked so young, and maybe he was. He really knew nothing about him, except that he had been kind to him and had fought for him. Now he would die because of him.

"Deeks?"

"Hey buddy," he said as he knelt down beside him.

"Make me promise," he pleaded. "Tell Ukraine Army when Russians will come."

"Absolutely," he whispered, but the man looked confused by the word, so he made it clear. "I promise, Bogdan. I promise."

"Good. I have no one because of Russians. Now I will see family again," he said, and smiled through bloody lips. "I will like that."

"Dammit, Bogdan..." Deeks took his hand and held it until his eyes became fixed on somewhere far away. "I'm so sorry, brother."

Deeks stood and wiped the tears from his face. Petruso squeezed his shoulder, and spoke something in Ukrainian.

"I tell them you call him brother," Petruso said. "This means much to them."

"What was his full name?" Deeks asked, needing to know more about him.

"Bogdan Razakova. He was Muslim," Petruso said. "His family come here from Crimea when Russians take it. Whole family die when Russian soldiers attack here five years ago. Burned to death in their house. He had no one to bury, so Bogdan was wild man when I found him. Crazy mad. Carries ashes from house with him. Told me it was his family."

"Sonofabitch."

"He was good man, good thief, and good soldier," Petruso said. "But we do not understand Muslim way, so we do not know how to bury him."

"Sam will know. He's Muslim," Deeks said.

"He will do this for Bogdan?"

"Of course. He's a good man too."

The remainder of the day was spent burying Petruso's dead. The three men were carried up into the woods and buried in a clearing surrounded by ancient oaks. Sam had helped prepare Bogdan's body, and he was carried up to his grave wrapped in a white sheet someone had found in the bedroom of the house. He was placed, according to custom, with his head facing east toward Mecca. Sam recited several prayers from memory over his body, and when he was finished Petruso handed him a small leather pouch.

"These are ashes of his family," he said. "What is custom for this?"

Deeks had told Sam the story of what had happened to Bogdan's family. He had remained quiet for some time before telling him that cremation was forbidden in Islam. It was sad to know how extremely painful it must have been for Bogdan to carry their ashes with him everyday. Now those ashes were in Sam's hands and he looked stunned by the weight of it.

"Tell me what you want me to do, Sam," Deeks offered. "Do we bury them with him?"

"Maybe we just let them go," he replied, and handed Deeks the pouch. "Allah will decide."

A soft wind was blowing East as Deeks opened the pouch and held it above his head. The ashes floated up and out over the trees, caught on the current of the wind, making their final journey with the soul of their son.

"Thank you, black man," Petruso said with a slight smile as they walked back down to the truck. "You are good man, Sam. Now I must go find Marko and Pavlo."

"Don't forget the horse," Sam said, stopping when he saw Callen standing at the back of the truck.

"Come meet Callen," Deeks said. "Put a face to the man you helped us find."

"You try to be strong man," Petruso said after they were introduced. "Don't want friends to know how bad you hurt."

"Something like that," Callen said. "What's next for you?"

"I have friends, too," he replied. "They wait for me in village many hours walk from here. I want to get there before dark."

"Why don't you let us drive you," Callen said. "We've got this big Russian truck. Lots of room."

"I like your friend, Deeks," Petruso said. "We go with you on one condition."

"What's that?" Callen asked.

"I drive."

"I'm good with that," Sam said.

...

...


	13. Chapter 13

**Ashes on the Wind**

_Notice_

...

Due to some family health issues and the holidays, I will not be posting a chapter this weekend. However, I will be posting an Epilogue the first week in January. I do hope you will return to my story to find out how everything turns out, and to discover what happens to Deeks and Sam and Callen and all the other characters. There may even be a Kensi sighting. Until then, I wish you all a lovely Christmas and a wonderful New Year.


	14. Chapter 14

**Ashes on the Wind**

_Epilogue_

...

The smell of death fouled the air. The lives of the scattered dead had been squandered because of greed and vengeance. Some had fought for money, some for power, most because violence was what they knew, all of it now meaningless in Deeks' mind. The somber scene of dead bodies was like a bookend to how this mission had started. It made him melancholy and so very tired. He watched as Petruso's men wandered wearily among the bodies picking up weapons, reminding him that their war wasn't over, that they would face more days like today until the Russian threat was ended. He just hoped the intel and their new Russian asset might make that possible. Even though his defection might spare Ukraine from another attack, Petruso wouldn't speak to the Russian. He told Deeks he didn't trust him, scoffing at the idea that he was doing this for Ukraine at all. Deeks couldn't fault his cynicism, because he doubted the man's motives were completely altruistic himself. But whatever Fyodor Orlov's reasons were for defecting, he had given them the intel they needed to halt an imminent attack on this long vulnerable border with his homeland, at least for a while. Now that this mission was completed, their goal was getting home.

Callen was in bad shape, and it wasn't hard to see how worried Sam was about him. He rarely spoke unless asked a question as they prepped for the trip to pick up Marko. A couple of Petruso's men brought a mattress out of the house for Callen to lie on in the truck bed, along with some musty blankets that had seen better days. He didn't protest or say anything sarcastic, so Deeks and Sam both knew it was a sure sign he was hurting. His silence made Sam anxious, and he was on the phone now with Hetty, getting an update on their exfil.

"You really think you'll win an argument with Hetty?" Deeks asked when he finished the call.

"I didn't. She wants us in Kiev," he replied. "There's a good hospital there."

"She's worried about Callen," Deeks said softly.

"Yeah, she is, and about you too," Sam said. "Our exfil location is right here. She's sending a medivac helo out from the embassy."

"What about Marko?"

"We do not need you to find Marko, American," Petruso said, grinning at him. "We do this before you come."

"Yeah, no...I know...it's just..."

"You worry about him," Petruso said softly. "This is nice. I will tell him."

As much as Deeks wanted to go home, he felt a strange reluctance to leave without making sure Marko was okay. Petruso seemed a little surprised by his reaction, his expression quizzical as Deeks struggled to find the words to say goodbye.

"We take truck, yes?" Petruso said.

"Of course," Deeks replied.

"Marko is very strong," Petruso said. "Do not worry."

"He's a good man," Deeks said.

"He is pain in ass," Petruso scoffed. "Stubborn bastard. Always argue with me."

"But he was right a few times on this trip," Deeks said, huffing out a soft laugh.

"You tell me I am Ukrainian Robin Hood, remember?" he replied. "Marko is just one of Merry Men. He should do what I tell him. This was true in comic books, yes?"

"You read comic books?" Deeks asked, giggling and trying to picture the tough bandit doing that.

"It is good story," Petruso said with a shrug.

"Don't believe everything Deeks says," Callen warned. "He's got some crazy stuff floating around in that head of his."

"He was crazy to try to find you and black man," Petruso said, suddenly sounding very serious and angry. "But he go even when I tell him it is stupid...dangerous. That he would be killed. He did not listen. Sam would be dead and you would be in Russian prison if he wasn't stubborn bastard like Marko."

Callen looked surprised by his vehemence, and so was Deeks.

"And if Hetty hadn't offered to pay you to help me," he said with a grin, trying to ease the sudden tension.

"I am not stupid," he said. "But she does not need to pay me now. Bidenko pay me. It is enough."

"Seriously?"

"I have a feeling he's serious most of the time," Sam said. "You stayed when you didn't have to, Petruso. I thank you for that, and Callen thanks you too."

"He speaks for you?" Petruso asked Callen.

"Even when I don't want him to," Callen said. "Kind of like this Marko you're talking about. I guess it's what partners do."

"Partners," he said softly to himself as if trying it out. "I will tell Marko what you say. He will like it."

"You take care, Petruso," Deeks said. "And please thank Ivanna and your father for their kindness."

Petruso reached out and shook his hand, but looked uncomfortable doing it, as if it might show weakness. Then he turned and began shouting at his men in Ukrainian and pointing at the truck. Deeks felt the sudden break keenly, and Sam seemed to understand, resting a hand on his shoulder as he watched the men load the extra weapons into the truck.

"How about letting me take a look at that bullet wound in your side," Sam said.

"Its just a deep graze. My shirt stuck to it, so it's not bleeding anymore," Deeks said.

"It still needs to be cleaned out," Sam said, giving him the look that meant he wasn't taking no for an answer. "If you get an infection, Kensi will kick my ass."

Deeks smiled softly at the thought and was ready to agree when Petruso grabbed his arm. "Barn is on fire."

"What? How?" Deeks asked, all of them turning to look.

Flames licked out of the vents on the roof and smoke drifted out of the windows and the crack in the barn doors.

"How the hell did that happen?" Sam said.

"Bidenko," Petruso breathed out in disgust, pointing at the lone figure crawling under the aluminum fence on the far side of the barn.

"Are you kidding me? He's been here the whole time?" Deeks was stunned.

The man disappeared into the woods as Petruso fired on him. None of them seem to have the energy to go after him, the day already too exhausting. Deeks suddenly felt cold inside, remembering the conversation about torture he'd had with the man. He said nothing as he walked out toward the barn. Deep down he knew what he would find, and even though there was nothing he could do about it, for some reason he had to see for himself. Petruso cursed, falling in beside him as he walked silently toward the fire. They looked at each other when they reached the barn doors, nodding in agreement before they pulled them open. Thick white smoke billowed out as the flames roared higher inside. They both gagged on the smell of burning flesh. Bidenko had lashed Kalashnik to one of the center posts. Musty piles of old hay had been piled around his legs, and now hungry flames crawled up his body, engulfing him in a funeral pyre. Deeks couldn't make out what else Bidenko had done to the man, but he could still see remnants of the massive gag that had kept all of them from hearing his screams. Petruso pulled him away.

"It is done," he said.

"But Bidenko is still out there," Deeks replied.

"He is nothing. He is man with no family, no friends," Petruso said. "If I see him tomorrow, I will kill him. We are alive. Today is for us. You go home, and we go find Marko, then to Ivanna's for good food."

"After what I just saw, I'm not sure I'll be able to eat anything ever again," Deeks said as they walked back toward the truck.

The man reached over and gripped his shoulder briefly and smiled. "You are tough sonofabitch, Deeks. Bastard back there earn his death. Remember that."

"So you're telling me to eat, drink, and be merry?"

"For tomorrow we die," he replied solemnly, striking Deeks with the thought that the man was more than he appeared, and that what he said could well be the truth for both of them.

The sound of gunfire interrupted a question he was about to ask, and they both pulled their weapons as they ran for the truck.

"Back in the trees," Sam yelled. "Not coming our way though."

"Maybe Pro-Russians bastards," Petruso said, but hesitated as the firing stopped.

"Or Bidenko," Deeks said.

"If it was, he wasn't shooting at us," Sam said, as they all crouched behind the truck.

"Marko and Pavlo," Petruso whispered and then began shouting in Ukrainian.

He took off running toward the woods, his men running after him. Deeks only hesitated for a moment before he started to follow. Callen grabbed his arm, but he pushed him away.

"If it is Marko out there, I'm not letting him die. He's a good man and a friend. He saved my life, Callen."

"Let him go, G," Sam said. "They've got history."

"Then you better go with him," Callen said. "Watch his back."

"No," Deeks insisted. "We don't know who's out there. It could be a militia coming for you and the Russian, so Sam needs to stay."

"You're right," Callen admitted. "Go do what you have to, Deeks. We'll hold up in the house."

"Watch yourself, brother," Sam said, squeezing his shoulder, his expression intense.

Deeks nodded and took off after Petruso, moving as fast as his body would allow, fear clawing at his gut as his anger flared. He wasn't going to let the Cookie Monster be killed by a real monster, and entered the cool air of the oak forest with his gun leading the way. He hadn't realized just how exhausted he was as he hurried to catch up. Every part of his body ached, but he did his best to ignore the pain, listening intently for any sound that might alert him to which way Petruso had gone. The gunfire had ended before he entered the woods, and it confused him and made him even more fearful. If they had come upon a militia group, there would still be sounds of a firefight, which turned his mind toward Bidenko. He heard the horse before he saw him, the animal cutting around the trees, groaning as he ran. Deeks pressed himself against a huge oak as the horse came into sight. He was shocked when he saw Bidenko desperately clinging to the animal. Stepping away from the tree he leveled his gun at the man and shouted.

"Bidenko! Stop!"

The horse never broke stride as Bidenko steered it directly at him, riding him down before he could jump out of the way. His shot went wide as he crashed into the trunk of a large oak. He couldn't breathe, his vision blurring as he watched the horse disappear down toward the dairy.

"The sonofabitch is going for the truck," he whispered as he struggled to his feet and staggered after him.

He moved through a silent world except for his own labored breathing, stumbling forward on nothing but pure will. If Sam or Callen didn't see the man coming, he would kill them all and escape. He wouldn't risk letting them live. Him either. If they were all dead he could blame everything on Petruso. He could spin whatever story he wanted and be believed, because he could prove Petruso was a known bandit. Once again he heard the horse before he saw him. The lathered animal was pawing the ground with its head down at the edge of the woods. Deeks took cover behind one of the trees, but realized Bidenko wouldn't fire on him for fear of alerting Sam and the others. He scanned the whole area, but saw no sign of him, so he moved forward, patting the sweaty shoulder of the exhausted horse and walked tentatively out into the open. He wrapped his arm over his ribs, wondering if they were broken, the new pain making it hard to breathe. Crouching low as he ran, he made his way along the fence toward the house where Sam and Callen said they would be. He could almost feel Bidenko's eyes on him, because he knew he was watching. When he saw Sam come out of the house he grabbed the top bar of the aluminum fence to steady himself. Then he heard the whomp of helo blades cutting through the deadly silence, and hope rose in his chest. Sam began waving at the medivac chopper even though it was still far off. Deeks was about to yell for him to get back inside when a hand grabbed the back of his neck and shoved him against the fence. Bidenko jammed the cool muzzle of his pistol up under his ear and pressed in close behind him before he had a chance to react.

"Drop your weapon, and put both hands on the top bar of the fence," he hissed, and Deeks let his gun drop at his feet and complied.

"You won't get away, Bidenko."

"Shut up," he growled. "You get to that truck or I'll knock you out and kill Sam. Don't doubt that. I'm an excellent shot, even at this distance. He doesn't see us, Deeks. He's watching that incoming chopper, and won't know what hit him. Then your other friend will come out and I'll kill him too, and the Russian traitor. Your choice."

"Okay, okay. Just take it easy, man."

"Good boy. Now step through the fence and walk to the truck."

Deeks did as he was told, crawling over onto the other side. As Bidenko was bending to slip through the fence, Deeks spun on him and tried to take him down. The agent countered his move and slammed the butt of his pistol into the wound in his side and he cried out, collapsing to his knees at the brilliant pain. He heard Sam yelling his name as Bidenko yanked him to his feet. He put him in a chokehold in front of him, shielding himself as Sam pulled his weapon and started down the steps. Bidenko began firing at him and Sam was forced to drop behind the low wall fronting the house.

"Move, Deeks," Bidenko hissed, dragging him along as this vision began to gray out.

Adrenaline suddenly surged when he saw Callen limp out of the door of the pink house. Bidenko took aim at him, but Deeks planted his feet and shove him off balance. The missed shot enraged the man, and he tightened his chokehold, jamming the muzzle of his gun into the wound in his side once again. The pain was blinding and he choked on it.

"Next time I'll put a bullet in your leg," Bidenko warned as he dragged him ever closer to the truck.

The helicopter suddenly made a low pass over the farm. Bidenko cursed as it banked overhead, kicking up the dirt in a swirling backwash.

"Give it up, douchebag," Deeks choked out. "Your plan won't work now. You're surrounded."

"They won't help you," he growled in his ear. "See the insignia? It's a medivac chopper, asshole. No shooters."

They both watched as the helo moved off, hovering just over the trees. His energy faded along with his hope. But as Bidenko opened the door to the truck, Deeks made one last attempt to free himself, slamming the heel of his boot down on top of his foot. Swinging his elbow up, he caught the bastard in the jaw as he spun out of his hold, but he stumbled and lost his footing, landing in the dirt. He was completely vulnerable, and saw nothing but raw fury on the man's face. Deeks sucked in his breath, waiting for the pain as the man pointed his gun at him. A rifle shot cracked, and Bidenko's head instantly snapped back, his blood painting the side of the truck as he fell, his weapon dropping harmlessly to the ground.

"What the hell?" Deeks whispered, but collapsed flat on the ground with tears of relief in his eyes.

"Deeks?" Sam yelled.

"Great shot, Sam," he whispered, when he knelt in the dirt by his side.

"It wasn't me, brother," he said, pointing at the helo as it settled to the ground inside the fence and cut its engine.

Kensi screamed his name as she jumped out of the open door of the helo and ran for him.

"Kensi?"

"I'm here, baby," She said and dropped to her knees beside him. "You're safe now. You're all safe."

"Helluva shot, Kens," he whispered, finding himself unable to do much more than smile at his wife. "I just need to rest a minute."

Medics suddenly surrounded him, but he resisted. "Callen needs you more than I do."

"There'll be enough of us for both of you. We've got another medivac on its way," one of them said, as he and another medic began checking him over. "Let's get an IV going on this one."

Kensi never let go of his hand, and he kept his eyes on her, still amazed she was here, right in front of him. He felt like he was dreaming until the medic shoved a needle in his arm.

"Ouch."

"A little something for the pain, sir," a very young medic said. "You look like you need it."

"You're not gonna pass out are you? He doesn't do well with needles," Callen explained, smirking down at him.

"Come on, G," Sam said. "Let's get you on that helo before you fall on your ass. You could use some pain meds yourself."

"Good timing, Kens," Callen said. "Neither one of us had a shot."

Deeks had no idea how the man was still standing. He looked worse than when he first saw him. A concerned medic took his arm to help him, but he remained unmoving, staring at Deeks and blinking back tears.

"Sam told me some of what you went through," he said softly. "I don't know how you did it, but I'm glad you two made it. I can't tell you how glad I was to see that dirty mop of hair, Deeks."

"Teamwork makes the dream work, G," Sam said solemnly as he squeezed his shoulder.

"Good to be part of it again," Callen whispered, sounding exhausted.

"I really think we need to get you onboard, Agent Callen," the medic said.

"Good idea," Sam said as Callen finally let the medic lead him toward the medivac chopper.

"Sam?" Deeks called out.

"Yeah, Deeks..." Sam said, turning from following his partner.

"Could you find out about Marko? Bidenko was riding his horse."

"He probably just fell off again," Sam said gently. "But I'll find him. Petruso too."

"Is that them?" Kensi asked and Deeks strained to see, pushing the medic away to rise up on his elbow.

Petruso and his men straggled out of the woods and through the gate. Two men were carrying Marko between them, and Petruso was helping Pavlo. They paused by the helo before Petruso saw him on the ground and quickened the pace to reach him. They were a weary looking bunch, but Deeks found it wasn't hard to think of them as a modern day interpretation of Robin Hood and his Merry Men, not that they looked all that merry at the moment.

"Bastard is dead. Good," Petruso said, as he looked down at Bidenko's dead body. "You shoot him, Deeks?"

"That would be Kensi. My wife," Deeks said as he pushed himself up to a sitting position.

"Kens? Meet Petruso, and his partner, Marko, a man in need of riding lessons."

"I did not fall off horse, Deeks," Marko insisted as the men lowered him down to lean against the front tire of the truck. "Tell him Pavlo."

The man simply shrugged and sat down heavily on the ground. Both men looked as if they'd been in a fight for their lives, but all of them just kept staring at Kensi with soft smiles.

"You are very beautiful woman, and still you marry this man?" Marko asked.

"Yes. Happily," she replied.

"He is very lucky bastard." Petruso said, a melancholy look clouding his face.

Marko started scolding him in Ukrainian, and they argued for a few moments before Petruso apologized for his language.

"Thank you for helping my husband," she said and began to shake each man's hand. "I'd like to return the favor by offering to take your wounded to the hospital in Kiev."

"You would do this?" Petruso asked, his natural wariness apparent in his eyes. "This is not a trick to arrest us?"

"Arrest you? Why would we arrest you?" Kensi asked, truly stunned. "You fought for your country and helped our team recover intel that's vital to your country's survival. I think you all deserve medals for what you did."

"I would like medal," Marko said. "And wife like Kensi. Do you have sister?"

"Don't act like idiot, Marko," Petruso said. "Just get up and get in helicopter. You are bleeding again."

"You coming, Petruso? You're wounded too," Sam said as he and one of the medics helped Deeks to his feet.

"I am good here," he replied. "I do not like Kiev. And I do not like hospital."

"That's too bad," Kensi said. "Hetty was looking forward to meeting you. She said to tell you she has your money."

"Hetty came to Kiev?" Deeks asked.

"She wanted to see for herself that you were all okay, and well taken care of. She knows the ambassador...of course," Kensi replied. "And she wanted to meet Petruso. She wants to thank you."

"She insult me in Ukrainian," he said, pouting just a little. "Now she want to meet me?"

"You saved her team, Petruso. She won't forget that," Sam said. "You're in her debt now."

"She thought you might be here," Kensi said. "It's why she sent two medivacs...in case you and your men might need medical attention."

"I like this woman," Marko said. "Don't be stupid, Truso. She want to give us money. You like money."

"Okay...partner," Petruso said. "We will go to Kiev and meet this little Hetty woman."

"And see my daughter, Anya," Marko said quietly. "Mama will come and bring food to hospital for all of us. You will like it very much."

They all turned to watch the second medivac land beside the other, and plans were made for leaving. Petruso spoke with his men, who eagerly climbed aboard the Russian truck, now fully loaded with guns and gear and stuff they had stolen from the house. Medics helped Deeks toward the helo, while Kensi led the Russian defector along behind. Callen was stretched out on the floor of the chopper with IV lines and monitors hooked up to the onboard equipment. As the medics got him settled, Deeks saw Kensi hold her hand out to Fyodor Orlov, who looked quickly over a Callen, who stared back at him, the look in his blue eyes intense. The defector nodded and pulled a thumb drive from his pocket and handed it over to Kensi. Deeks suddenly let out a breath of relief, knowing the op was now truly over. They had done their jobs and had survived, but just barely. Sam was the last one in, settling down as close to Callen as he could get. The team was together again and it felt good. As the helo lifted off, Deeks caught a view of the dairy barn, which continued to burn. As they flew over, its walls collapsed in on themselves, sending up a column of heavy smoke, the ashes swirling up into the wind as they headed toward Kiev, the last stop on their way home.

...

...


End file.
